by Debra Dixon
“What happened sixteen years ago, Jessie?”
The only sign of tension as she answered him was the white-knuckled grip she had on the railing. “Puberty.”
When he laughed, she breathed again, was safe again. For a while. Until the next time she forgot that Sully’s jovial little conversations were intended to trip her up. He was much too good at uncovering her secrets. Telling herself to be careful around him was redundant, not to mention worthless. She’d known to be careful the first time she met him, and so far “knowing” hadn’t made any difference.
She kept stepping into his traps, or was maneuvered skillfully into them. No matter how she got there, the result was the same. Sully had another bit of the puzzle, another tidbit to tickle his suspicions. And she was one step closer to disaster.
Lincoln waited impatiently for them in the living room. Sully gave him a thumbnail sketch—Phil’s car had been found, no evidence of foul play, and no details were available. Lincoln was visibly shaken, and his frown deepened, but his response was the same as it had been the night before. Nothing unusual had happened in the last few days with the exception of the unlocked door and Jessica’s arrival.
“I’d like to see the office,” Sully said.
“Is that smart? I didn’t think you were on the case,” Jessica reminded him.
“Who said anything about the case? I’m just taking a little tour of the house. The office is part of the house, isn’t it, Lincoln?”
“Yeah, but I already locked it,” Linc apologized. “It seemed like the thing to do. I had the electronic team in to sweep the house. They cleared it. Nothing was planted; nothing was missing, and that’s Phil’s private room. So I locked it. It’s just a button lock, but I don’t have a key.”
“Nice work.” Sully sighed. “Munro gets his money’s worth.”
Reluctantly Jessica tightened the noose Sully already seemed to have around her neck and volunteered, “I can let you in.”
Sully swung around, brows upraised. In unison, he and Lincoln asked, “You have a key?”
“No.” She refused to flinch as the men worked it out in their minds.
Lincoln’s mouth dropped open in uncertain surprise, but Sully smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t ask you to pick the lock to begin with. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Getting rid of you has been beyond my talents so far,” she murmured sweetly as she went to get her kit. “Lincoln, show him where the office is.”
When she joined them, Sully timed her. The lady picked the lock in less than five seconds. Impressive. So the kit wasn’t a new toy. It obviously wasn’t a toy at all.
The longer he was around Jessica Daniels, the more certain he became that the innocence in her kiss was an illusion. There wasn’t an ingenuous bone in her body. The flesh on those bones wasn’t particularly innocent either, he decided. She’d taken her boots off upstairs and now her bare legs seemed to go on forever.
He wondered if she’d done it on purpose. Part of him, the lunatic part, hoped she had, that she’d made a conscious decision to attract his attention. Jessie chose that precise moment to turn around and look him squarely in the eye, completely unrepentant for her nefarious skill. With the barest push of her fingertips the door swung open. Their gazes locked. She lifted a brow, waiting for the compliment that he wouldn’t give.
“You’re in,” she said finally, forcing him to move.
“Not yet,” he whispered as he passed her, unable to resist that familiar urge to rattle her. “But I’d like to be.”
As much as he wanted to, he didn’t stop to watch her reaction. Lincoln was already inside the office, talking to him, oblivious to the sensual undercurrent between them.
“We couldn’t find anything obvious missing the first time,” he said, turning in a circle. “That’s why I called in the debugging guys. I thought maybe they’d planted something.”
Shooting a quick look back at Jessica, Sully realized she’d kept the missing calendar pages secret from Lincoln. She shrugged and offered no explanation. He was beginning to get used to it; he didn’t press until Lincoln left them for one of the security checks he seemed so fond of.
“He didn’t know the pages were taken,” Sully said, closing the last drawer of uninteresting files. “You flipped the calendar over so no one else would notice.”
“And he didn’t.” She stopped rummaging through the trash can and stood up. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”
“What are we looking for?” he inquired politely.
“Phil.”
He had to smile as he levered himself up. She was quick on her feet, but he wasn’t leaving tonight until he had the answers to a couple of questions. And what they were looking for was one of those questions.
For now he asked, “You really believe someone got here first. Why?”
“Phil’s office in Houston was immaculate. This one is disheveled. Somebody searched all right.”
“Maybe Carol keeps his office in Houston neat and tidy.”
“No.” She was firm. “Secretaries usually don’t mess with the personal stuff. The middle drawer of his desk in Houston would have done an obsessive-compulsive proud. A place for everything, and everything in its place.”
“Except the man himself,” Sully quipped, then he dragged the conversation back to the original point. “You didn’t tell Lincoln about the calendar.”
“There wasn’t any reason to tell him. Yesterday I wasn’t certain that the office had been searched. Why upset him?”
“Tell me about Lincoln.”
Instead of answering right away, she straightened the blotter on the desk. If Sully didn’t know better, he’d have accused the woman of nervousness.
“He seems to care for Iris. He’s conscientious. Boy, is he conscientious. He was up most of the night last night.” She glanced up from the precisely positioned blotter. “I could hear him checking the house.”
“Bet that irritated you.”
“Why would that bother me?”
“Weren’t you waiting for him to go to sleep so you could use your little kit and search the office by yourself?”
“No, I’m a light sleeper.”
“I’ll just bet.” He considered her for a moment. “Maybe you were checking up on Lincoln. Don’t you trust the man?”
“As much as I trust anyone.”
“That isn’t saying a helluva lot.” Sully crossed the room and parked his butt on the edge of the desk, daring her to deny it.
“I guess not.” He could have sworn he heard regret in her voice. Then she said, “I’d better check on Iris.”
Sully reached for her as she walked by, pulling her into the cage of his thighs. He had to force his gaze away from the buttons on that short scrap of material she called a top. Looking into her eyes wasn’t much safer. A man could lose himself in a liquid brown gaze like Jessie’s. A man could lose himself and never realize when it happened.
“Is there anyone you do trust?” he asked softly, running his hand down her arm to circle her wrist.
“Not for a long time.” She cut her gaze down to her wrist and then back to him.
“Don’t you trust me, Jessie?”
“You’re the last person I’d trust, Sully.”
“You’re standing here.”
“I’m a fool.”
“You may be a lot of things, but fool isn’t one of them.”
At the moment the word innocent seemed more appropriate than anything. Every time he got physically close to her, the balance of power between them shifted subtly. As long as she had a little distance, she led the dance. As soon as he got close she seemed to forget the steps. The confident “one-up” looks were replaced with wary, wide-eyed uncertainty.
And damned if that didn’t make him hot. Women never looked at him like that. Not the ones he got close enough to kiss. Women whose expressions reminded him of Jessie’s ran for cover, and yet she didn
’t. She stood her ground, so close, he had to be careful not to tug her hand even a fraction of an inch. If he did, she’d become intimate with a certain part of his anatomy. Of course, if they stood like this much longer, he wouldn’t have to tug her hand. Nature would make the introductions for him.
“Poor Jessie,” he said suddenly. “Your body trusts me, even if your brain doesn’t.”
Painful recognition of that truth flashed in her eyes.
“Is that really so bad?” he asked, and moved her hand up onto his thigh, away from danger. “Let’s start with something simple and work up to the scary parts. Tell me how long you’ve had that white streak in your hair.”
He saw the shadow cross her face, and she deflected the question. “Since I met you.”
“Funny. Carol said you’ve had it longer.”
She would have pulled away, but he circled her wrist again and caught her elbow. The effect was that she was snug against him now, his thighs rubbing hers.
“You talked with Carol? About me?” she asked in an irritated unhappy-camper voice.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded. All the play had gone out of their game, and he was in deadly earnest now. “She said to tell you how sorry she was for not recognizing you immediately, but her mind was just so preoccupied with those government thugs that she wasn’t thinking straight.”
The anxiety in her eyes evaporated. “Oh, well. It’s been a couple of years since I retired.”
“Yeah, she said it’d been a couple of years.” Sully waited a minute, waited for Jessica to feel safe, and then he added, “She also said that you don’t work for Munro Security, and that you never have.”
EIGHT
Everything inside Jessica went cold, the way it did whenever the crosshairs of her scope zeroed a target. There had been no room for emotion then, no room for doubt as she followed orders and pulled the trigger. This time, she went cold and motionless because she was the target. She was the one in the crosshairs.
Sully had caught her in another trap, and he was playing with her—the way a lazy mountain lion played with a hapless mouse. The instant the lion bored with the creature, the game would be over. Still, the poor stupid mouse kept dodging and darting, pretending it could escape right up to the last minute.
Right until the lion devoured it.
Despite the coolness in Sully’s gaze, Jessica knew he was still fascinated with the game. Otherwise, he would have pounced on her the minute he talked to Carol. Pounced and hauled her back to the Houston police. So, the mouse was alive for a while, but it was time to dazzle him. Time to let him draw a little blood. Time to boost his interest in the chase.
Slowly, enunciating each word carefully, she told him, “I don’t recall ever saying that I worked for Munro Security.”
“Don’t split hairs with me. I’m not in the mood.” His hand tightened painfully on her elbow. “I was there when Iris said you were one of Phil’s top people. You didn’t deny it.”
Refusing to grimace, Jessica said, “Obviously, you didn’t listen to Iris. I worked for Phil. Not Munro Security. I doubt Carol, or anyone at Munro Security for that matter, knows about Phil’s dirty little dozen.”
She could see the wheels turning in Sully’s head. He was a smart guy. He’d add two and two real quick. Now all she could do was hope his sum was something other than four. He looked away and then back at her as the tumblers of his mind clicked into place.
“Carol might not know about the dirty dozen, but I bet the CIA does. Am I right?”
She nodded and thought he’d be pleased with himself for figuring it out, but he frowned instead.
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Some secret little group of professionals Munro put together to handle special jobs for the government, right?”
He pushed her away suddenly as if he needed space to breathe. He paced the room, shaking his head the whole time. Jessica rubbed her arm and let him come to his own conclusions. Finally he whipped around as if he couldn’t deny the obvious any longer.
“You’re a spy.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jessica protested a little too quickly, but salved her conscience with the knowledge that she was telling the truth. If Sully jumped to conclusions based on her tone and timing, it was his own fault.
He laughed in disbelief. “Of course not. No one admits they’re a spook. That’s what they teach you, isn’t it? How to lie convincingly? You’re pretty good.”
It wasn’t a compliment.
Crossing her arms over her midriff, she waited him out, neither denying or confirming anything. At this point his creativity was working in her favor. Good cops were always able to piece a story together from thin air. The trick was in making him use more air than fact.
“What’s your specialty?” he asked in the same tone people used at cocktail parties to ask someone’s line of work. “I would imagine it’s getting inside places you have no business being inside. You were awfully fast with that lock for someone who’s been retired two years. You must practice.”
“Any idiot can order a lock-pick kit out of a number of magazines. That doesn’t make them spies.”
His eyes ran over her, appraising her. “What is the job description for a spy nowadays? I bet you did a lot more than pick locks for the government.”
“Does any of that really matter now?” The irritation in her voice was real. She didn’t want him traveling any farther down this path. “I haven’t worked for Phil or anyone else in two years. I’m involved in this mess only because a scared little girl called me. Don’t you get it, Sully? I’m floundering around just like you. I don’t know anything.”
The coldness inside her was gone, replaced with the warm buzz of blossoming anger. Without realizing it, she had taken a step toward him with each sentence until the mouse was once again within reach of the mountain lion. Pride wouldn’t let her retreat. Not this time. The man affected her on so many levels, she’d lost count.
All she knew for sure was that if she let him pick the battles between them, she’d lose the war. Jessica wasn’t certain what was at stake, but she’d rather go down in flames than fly a white flag or run for the hill country. Jessica Daniels had never given up or run from anything since she was thirteen years old, and even then she’d settled the score first.
So why was Sully different from the others? Why did he unsettle her and trigger her fight or flight instincts? Why couldn’t she just ignore him instead of baiting him?
For some obscure reason, Jessica didn’t want Sully to think her a coward. Whatever happened would just have to happen. She wasn’t going to avoid the current flowing between them anymore or pretend it wasn’t there. Ignoring it only made it worse.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” Jessica said quietly.
“If you’re not the bad guy … then who is?” he asked, taking a step of his own, decreasing the distance between them. All that remained now was a scant inch. His eyes bored into hers as he looked down. “If you don’t know anything, then what the hell are you looking for, Jessie?”
“The same thing everyone else is,” she quipped. “A good night’s sleep and another chance to do it right.” Then she ruined the flip answer when she added a melancholy footnote. It was a reflex really. “Neither of which are possible.”
“Why not?” His question was unexpectedly full of gentleness.
“Because no one gets a second chance. You can’t go back and do your life over. Even if you want to.”
Sully knew the truth when he heard it. Or maybe he knew this truth in particular because it hit so close to home. Although … if he could, even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t go back and change a thing. He’d stopped lying to himself years ago. What was done, was done. Written on his soul in indelible ink.
“What would you change, Jessie?” he asked, the need to get inside her head getting the better of him as it always did. The other questions, the cop questions, could wait until she wasn’t close enough to kiss, until the faint scent of flowers in t
he summer rain didn’t drift over his mind like a mist.
Right now all he cared about was the woman. And the woman wasn’t backing away for once.
“Tell me,” he urged. “What would you change?”
“Simple.” Her crooked half smile squeezed his heart as she said, “I’d change me.”
He reached out to trace the line of her arm, from elbow to shoulder. This close to Jessie he always wanted to touch her. “Oh no, you’re wrong about that. Changing Jessica Daniels would be a mistake.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m good at mistakes.”
“Name one.”
Suddenly their positions seemed so intimate to Jessica. They were no longer adversaries squaring off; they were like lovers maneuvering for position. She swallowed, dropped her gaze to his mouth, and named the first mistake she could think of. “Kissing you. That was a big mistake.”
“I don’t think so.” He smoothed his hand slowly along her shoulder to the side of her neck. “The mistake is taking all the blame for yourself. Shouldn’t you be making excuses? Telling me the devil made you do it? Protesting your virtue? Spouting indignant declarations that it won’t happen again?” His face was so close to hers. “Most women would.”
Her breathing was noticeably shallow, but her voice held steady as his thumb rubbed the side of her throat. “Not me. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Not anymore.”
Sully eased his hand to the back of her neck, letting his fingers spear through her hair until he could massage her through the curtain of silk. “So, you’re a woman of her word. That’s pretty ironic coming from you, don’t you think?”
His words would have rankled Jessica if his fingers hadn’t been performing a dangerous magic on her muscles and bones. Or if his voice hadn’t been a raspy whisper that swirled heat in the most unlikely places. She had to divide her attention between focusing on the conversation and making her legs support her.
She defended herself and her integrity with a simple alibi because it was all she could manage. “I never made you a promise, so I couldn’t have broken one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”