Hero Under Cover

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She turned to leave, but Pete’s voice stopped her. “Annie.”

  He was pulling on his jeans, and her eyes were drawn to his hands as he fastened the button and pulled up the zipper. Oh, Christmas, stare, why don’t you, she chastised herself, feeling her cheeks flush.

  “I’m not sure if this is such a good idea,” Pete said, gracefully ignoring her discomfort. “You’re much safer inside the house. Out in the yard, you’re a target. It’s harder for me to protect you.”

  “You know, Taylor,” Annie said, “a perfect day like this doesn’t come along all that often. I’m sorry, but I can’t let it pass me by. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  When Cara’s car finally pulled into the driveway, Annie and Pete hadn’t finished raking half of the big yard. The day was unusually warm, and Annie had long since stripped off her sweater. Even with only her old T-shirt on, she had sweat running down her back and trickling between her breasts.

  “Darn,” Annie said. “Guess I miscalculated how long this would take.”

  Pete leaned on his rake and looked at her. It was that look again, Annie thought, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Why did he watch her that way? With his shirt off, and his upper body glistening with perspiration, she couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead, she turned and watched Cara climb out of her car.

  “If you promise to keep the alarm on after you go inside,” Pete said, “I’ll finish up.”

  “Oh,” Annie said, glancing back at him. “No…”

  “I don’t mind,” he insisted. “In fact, it feels good to be out here. But you’ve got to promise to let the answering machine pick up all the phone calls. And if anything strange happens—anything at all—you call me. Immediately. Is that clear?”

  She smiled. “Yeah.”

  He reached out, and for one heart-stopping moment, Annie thought he was going to touch her, to pull her in close to him. But he only plucked a leaf from her hair and tossed it to the ground. She turned quickly then, and nearly ran back to the house, hoping that he hadn’t seen the hope that she knew had briefly flared in her eyes.

  She tried to comfort herself by counting the days until the carbon-dating test results on Stands Against the Storm’s death mask would come in. Eight more days at the most, maybe even less. Eight more days, and then he would be gone.

  Now, why didn’t that make her feel any better?

  ANNIE TOOK A GALLON OF ICE TEA and a pile of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches out to Pete at lunchtime. She sat and ate with him, then closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face.

  She’d showered and changed earlier that morning, and she now wore a bright yellow T-shirt with her jeans. Her hair was down loose around her shoulders, shining as it moved slightly in the gentle breeze.

  Pete lay on his back in the grass, pretending to watch the clouds, but in truth watching Annie. Just when he thought he’d memorized every angle and plane of her face, he’d see her in a different light. With her eyes closed, her face held as if in worship up toward the sun, she looked angelic and serene—two characteristics Pete didn’t normally associate with Annie Morrow.

  He ached from wanting her. But every time Annie called him Taylor, he was slapped in the face with the magnitude of the lies he had told her—was continuing to tell her.

  And the worst part of the situation was that he no longer doubted her innocence. Annie Morrow was not involved in an art conspiracy. Pete would bet his life on that. He’d been with her every moment for weeks now, and she’d neither received nor made one single suspicious phone call. No one had tried to contact her any other way. She left her mail opened and out on her desk—there was nothing she was trying to hide.

  Except her feelings for him.

  Pete knew that it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his own feelings, his own needs. Man, when she looked at him, when he saw that longing in her eyes—

  Annie opened her eyes slowly and caught him staring at her.

  Embarrassed, she looked away. When she glanced back at him, he’d sat up and was scraping some dirt off the well-worn toes of his cowboy boots.

  “I have a date tonight,” she said.

  His dark eyes flashed toward her, and for an instant, Annie thought she saw surprise on Pete’s face. But it was quickly covered up, if it was ever even there.

  “Tonight’s the fund-raiser at the Museum of Modern Art in the city,” Annie said. “All kinds of backers and grants people and just plain rich folk are going to be there.” She smiled wryly. “Along with every museum and university and private researcher vying for any extra cash that might be lying around. It’ll be a real schmoozefest.”

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” Pete asked.

  Annie looked at him blankly.

  “Your date,” he said. “Who is he?”

  “Nick York,” Annie said.

  Pete nodded slowly.

  Annie fought a wave of disappointment. But what did she expect? she scolded herself. Did she really expect Pete to be jealous? In all likelihood, he was probably relieved. If she was with Nick, she wouldn’t be at home, mooning over Pete like a star-struck teenybopper.

  “I’d better get back to work,” she said, standing up and brushing off the seat of her jeans. She started toward the house.

  “Annie.”

  She stopped, turning slowly back around.

  Pete was standing there, looking like an ad for Levi’s, with his snug jeans riding low on his hips, and his tan muscles gleaming in the sunshine.

  “Thanks for the lunch,” he said.

  His eyes seemed to drill into her, burning with that same, unmistakable intensity. It was that look again.

  Annie shook her head, letting all the air out of her lungs with an exasperated laugh. “Taylor, what do you want from me?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Why do you look at me that way?”

  Pete looked down at the ground. “What way?” he asked, knowing damn well exactly what she was talking about.

  “Oh, forget it,” she muttered and stalked back to the house.

  “Keep the alarm system on,” he called after her, and without turning around, she held up one hand, signaling that she’d heard him.

  He watched as she went inside, then picked up the rake and went back to work.

  What did he want from her?

  He should have told her. What would she have said, he wondered, if he’d told her the truth?

  AT ONE-THIRTY IN THE AFTERNOON, the phone rang. Annie was in the office, and she answered it without thinking, remembering only after she said hello that Pete had told her not to answer the phone.

  “Sweet Annie!” came a familiar voice. It was Nick York. “What are you wearing?”

  “Jeans,” Annie said. “Why?”

  “No, not right now, you darling idiot.” Nick laughed. “Tonight. What are you wearing tonight?”

  Outside the office window, Pete carried a bundle of leaves toward the compost pile. Annie followed him with her eyes, trying not to crane her neck too obviously as he passed out of view. “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

  “Go all out tonight, will you, love?” Nick said. “Wear something tiny, with lots of leg and cleavage. Maybe something blue, to match your eyes. I want ’em drooling.”

  “And I want to preserve my reputation as a legitimate scientist,” Annie protested.

  “You’re the best in your field,” Nick murmured. “Everyone knows that. Promise me you’ll wear high heels?”

  “I promise I’ll wear blue,” Annie said. “Tiny or high heels I can’t guarantee.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick said cheerfully, “though if you love me, even just the teeniest little bit, you’ll wear high heels tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Annie hung up the phone, mentally reviewing the clothes that hung in her closet. Blue, she thought. What did she have that was blue? She had a new pair of blue jeans. She snickered, imagining the look on Nick’s f
ace if he came to pick her up and she was wearing jeans—and her navy-blue high-top sneakers. That would be perfect.

  But how often did she get a chance to dress up? She wore jeans all the time.

  Outside the window, Pete was almost finished raking the leaves. Annie imagined coming down the stairs, wearing something tiny, with high heels showing off her long legs. She imagined breezing past Pete to kiss Nick fondly on the cheek. She and Nick would get into his sports car and drive off, leaving Pete openmouthed and jealous.

  Well, probably not openmouthed, Annie thought. She sighed. And probably not jealous. Pete wouldn’t even notice.

  She stood up. Pete might not notice what she was wearing, but Nick sure as heck would. And maybe that would give her bruised ego a well-needed boost.

  Annie took the stairs up to her apartment two at a time. Somewhere, in the back of her closet, was the perfect little dress for this particular occasion.

  The door to her bedroom was closed, and Annie hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. That was funny, she thought. She hadn’t closed the door. It had been open a few hours ago when she brought the plates back from lunch….

  Maybe Cara had been up here.

  She retraced her steps back down the stairs, and went into the lab where Cara was painstakingly cleaning the rust from an ancient iron pot.

  “MacLeish, have you been upstairs?” Annie asked.

  Cara looked up, thinking for a moment. “Nope,” she said. “Not today.”

  “How about Jerry?” Annie prodded. “When he was here at lunchtime, did he go up?”

  “No,” Cara said, putting down her brush. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  But Annie had already gone into the foyer. She overrode the alarm system, allowing the front door to be opened, and went outside.

  Pete was by the toolshed, folding the tarp. He still wasn’t wearing his shirt, and he still was gorgeous. He looked up as she approached. “What’s the matter?” he asked, dropping the tarp immediately and crossing toward her.

  He’d picked up on her tension, Annie realized. His dark eyes raked her face, narrowing slightly, trying to read her mind.

  She swallowed, and smiled weakly. “This is probably silly,” she said, “but my bedroom door is closed, and I’m sure I left it open. Cara didn’t close it, Jerry wasn’t even upstairs when he was here, and…” She shrugged. “It was probably just the wind.”

  Pete looked up at the house, his sharp eyes quickly locating Annie’s bedroom. “Your windows are closed,” he said. He gave her a quick, fierce smile. “I’m proud of you. You didn’t open the door. You came and told me. That was the right thing to do.”

  He took her by the arm and hustled her around the side of the house to the front door. He had already pulled his gun from its holster in his back pocket, Annie realized, and held it in front of them as they went inside.

  Pete looked up the long staircase, then back at Annie. If an intruder was in the house, it didn’t necessarily mean he was behind that closed door. She would be safer if she was near him.

  “Stay right behind me,” he said quietly.

  Annie nodded, and Pete started up the stairs. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Closer,” he whispered, reaching back with his left hand to pull her in toward him, almost pressing her against his back.

  She put her hand out to keep her nose from bumping into his solid shoulder blades. Her fingers touched the heat of his back and the hard smoothness of skin stretched tightly over his well-defined muscles. She resisted the urge to press her lips against him, to taste the saltiness of his skin with her tongue.

  Pete positioned them against the wall next to her door, out of any possible line of fire. Slowly he reached out and turned the doorknob. He gave a push, and the door swung open.

  The bedroom was dark inside, all the curtains drawn. There was no sound, no movement.

  “I left the shades up after my shower,” Annie breathed, her mouth close to Pete’s ear.

  He nodded once. “Stay back,” he whispered, checking his gun, making sure the safety was off.

  She caught his arm. “Be careful, Pete,” she said softly.

  His eyes moved down to her mouth, and for a heart-quickening instant, Annie thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he smiled, touching her cheek briefly with his work-roughened fingers.

  Without warning, he leapt in front of the open door. His arms were outstretched, his left hand supporting the gun he held in his right. Startled by his sudden movement, a cloud of bats erupted from Annie’s room.

  Bats!

  Pete swore, ducking as the bats fluttered and screeched around him.

  Annie was flat against the wall, panic in her eyes. He grabbed her and pulled her down to the floor, covering her with his body. With one hand he reached out and caught the bottom edge of the door, yanking it shut.

  “Cara, close the door to the lab!” he shouted.

  He heard the thump of the downstairs door slamming closed, then Cara’s voice raised in a plaintive wail, “Oh, yuck, are those bats out there?”

  There were hundreds of them. They fluttered and swooped, dazed and confused by the bright sunlight.

  Pete pulled Annie toward the stairs, half carrying, half dragging her down with him. He had to get her out of there, more than just her fear motivating him. Bats carried rabies. He couldn’t let her get bitten, but there were so many of them, and they were everywhere….

  He pulled her toward the front door, pulling it open. As if sensing the freedom, a bevy of the bats rushed toward the open door.

  Annie ducked, desperately trying to get out of their way. But she wasn’t quick enough. Its radar off kilter, one of the bats swooped too low.

  Annie felt the tug as the bat became entangled in her hair. Panic engulfed her, and she swatted at it, breaking free from Pete and running for the open air of the front yard. The bat struggled, equally frightened, but only became more firmly ensnarled.

  “Pete!” Annie screamed, and he was instantly at her side. His strong fingers plucked the bat from her hair, throwing it onto the ground. Rabies, he thought. What if the bat had rabies? He crushed it with the heel of his boot.

  Annie’s knees buckled. But Pete’s arms were around her, holding her. Gently he lowered them both down, so that he was sitting on the ground with Annie on his lap. He could feel her trembling as she clung tightly to his neck.

  He held her close for several long minutes, until he felt her heartbeat start to slow. Then gently he tried to pry her fingers loose. But she wouldn’t let go of him. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ve got to make sure it didn’t bite you.”

  Annie released him and sat quietly with her eyes closed, letting Pete run his fingers through her hair, meticulously checking every square millimeter of her scalp and neck.

  By the time he was done, the paramedics Cara had called had arrived, followed closely by the police and a fire truck. The FBI even pulled up, glaringly obvious in their big, unmarked car and dark suits. Last but not least to make the scene was a pest control van. As the paramedics checked Annie, a man and a woman dressed in sturdy protective gear went into the house and rounded up the rest of the bats. Pete pulled on the T-shirt he had discarded on the lawn while he was working.

  The police bagged the dead bat that had been in Annie’s hair, to send it to the county lab to test for rabies. As far as anyone could tell, Annie hadn’t been bitten. But if the bat turned out to be rabid, the police officer told her, she’d probably still want to look into having a series of rabies shots—better safe than sorry.

  It was after five by the time the pest control folks finished locating and removing all the stray bats. By then the burglar alarm company van had appeared in the driveway. The same man who had installed the system was in the foyer, deep in argument with Pete, insisting that if the motion detectors had been operational and on-line, there was simply no way an intruder could have gotten into the house without triggering the alarm.

  “Maybe the bats made their w
ay into the house through a hole in the roof,” Annie heard the alarm specialist suggest as she approached the two men.

  “Did they also close my bedroom door and pull down the shades?” she asked tartly.

  Pete glanced at her. Her face was still a shade or two too pale, but she’d bounced almost all the way back, and the fire had returned to her eyes.

  “The system was on all day,” Pete added, crossing his arms as he brought his attention back to the man. “Occasionally we bypassed the front door, but I was in sight of that door each time, and believe me, no one unauthorized entered or exited that way.”

  The alarm specialist shrugged. “I’ll check the system again,” he said, returning to the control panel.

  Pete turned to Annie. “I’m so sorry about this,” he said, emotion in his voice.

  “I have to wash my hair,” she said, then shuddered. “Lord, I hate bats.”

  Pete’s face darkened. “I hate knowing that someone was in here with you while I was out in the yard.” He rubbed his forehead, then ran his hand through his hair as if he had a headache. “If they’d wanted to kill you,” he said, his voice harsh, “they could’ve. And I wouldn’t have been able to do a damned thing. Annie, I wouldn’t have even known.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “It didn’t happen,” she said. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right,” Pete said. He looked down at her hand, her fingers pale and smooth against his tanned skin. He took a step back, and her hand fell away from him. “We can’t stay here tonight. It’s not safe.”

  “It was a prank,” she protested. “They only wanted to scare me.” She smiled ruefully. “They succeeded.”

  “If they got in once, they can get in again,” Pete said.

  “You said yourself that if they wanted to kill me, they could’ve,” Annie said. “Obviously, they don’t want to.”

  “Yet.” Pete shook his head. “I’m authorizing a further upgrade of your security system. Until it’s installed, we’re not going to stay here. We’re going to a hotel. I’ve already talked to the FBI team about additional protection.”