by Cara Summers
“Please what? This?” He drew his finger down her again, and again, increasing the pressure just a little each time. When the first climax tore through her, he very nearly climaxed, too.
Then, lying down beside her, he gathered her close and just held her until the shuddering stopped. He needed to take a moment for her, and just as much for himself. If he entered her now, he’d be rough again, and he wanted desperately to be gentle.
She lifted her head and said, “Come inside me now. Please. I need you.”
Whatever resolve he’d managed to gather scattered away, and his own need rushed in to fill its place. He fumbled with his clothes, and when he was finally free of them, he shifted to his back and she straddled him. Gripping her hips, he held her still for one moment, allowing her to fill his vision, his world. Then, lifting her, he plunged into her and watched pleasure cloud her eyes.
The moment she began to move, his vision began to blur. Not yet. He gripped her hips again.
“Let me.” She struggled, but he held her in place. “I want…”
With one hand, he touched the spot where her body joined his.
Crying out, she arched her back as another climax rushed through her. He’d never seen anything more beautiful, more arousing. When she collapsed on top of him, he held her tight. And he knew that he could have gone on holding her for a long while.
But she began to rock her hips against him as she captured his mouth, breathing his name. “Tracker, I want you to come for me now.”
Rolling her beneath him, he thrust once, then again, and poured himself into her.
13
NATALIE GIBBS TOOK OUT a handkerchief and wiped at the seat of the booth before she sat down. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have deplorable taste in restaurants?”
“This isn’t a date,” Chance said. If it were, he might have tried to figure out why the woman sitting across from him rubbed him the wrong way.
“Thank heavens for that. You’re not my type.”
He was going to stick to business. They were going to share what they’d found out and coordinate their plan for tomorrow, and then drive out to Tracker’s place and fill him in. But Chance found himself saying, “You could have fooled me. Ramsey told me you were the blond boy who hit on me that day in the shop. That was a hell of a risk to take. What would you have done if I’d taken you up on it?”
She smiled at him. “Not much of a risk when you think about it. If you were straight, you wouldn’t have been interested. If you were gay, you would have ended up disappointed.” Her smile faded. “I was checking out who worked in the gallery. It was the last place Jayne Childress stopped before she was killed. The first minute I looked at you I didn’t think you were gay.”
His frown deepened. He didn’t like it one bit that she’d seen through him. “Why not?”
Head tilted, she studied him for a minute. “A feeling. I felt it the first time I walked into the gallery and our eyes met.”
It occurred to him that he knew exactly what she was talking about because he was feeling it right now—a little shock of recognition that registered like a quick punch in the gut.
“What’ll you have, sugar?”
Glancing up, Chance saw that the waitress was talking to Natalie.
“Long time no see, Mae. Can you hazard a guess as to how long ago that pot of coffee was made?” Natalie asked.
Chance noted that the waitress was not wearing a name tag. The woman, who was short, stocky and in her early fifties, glanced to the counter at the coffeemaker, then leaned closer to Natalie. “I think the Beatles were still making records.”
Natalie laughed. The full, bright sound had Chance experiencing that low punch in the gut again.
“Thanks, Mae. I’ll take a diet soda with a twist of lemon, if you have it.”
“Make that two.” As soon as Mae ambled out of earshot, he said, “You’ve been in here before.”
Her brows shot up. “That’s how I know you have deplorable taste in restaurants. When I was a beat officer, my partner loved this place. I learned the hard way to avoid anything that doesn’t come right out of a bottle or a can.”
Chance found himself wondering how she would look in a uniform. Squashing the image, he pulled out his notebook. When he glanced up, he saw that Natalie had taken hers out of her purse and was uncapping an expensive-looking monogrammed pen. “Shall we get down to business?” she asked.
“Right. Bad news. I just learned that the artist who created the ceramic vase and horse and the owner of the shop that exported them to One of a Kind are both dead.”
Natalie stared at him. “Have you let Tracker and Sophie know?”
“I’ll fill them in when we get there. It’s the kind of news I’d rather deliver in person.” For the first time, Chance realized that he’d waited because he’d wanted to talk to Natalie first, to get her input.
Tapping her pen on the notebook, she frowned. “I don’t like it. Whoever we’re dealing with takes no prisoners.” She met his eyes. “I want to get him.”
“Did you find out anything more about the shooter?”
Natalie smiled. “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. His attorney called and wants to meet first thing in the morning. I’m betting we’ll have a name by the time Sophie opens her shop.”
Mae arrived with their drinks, and as soon as she left, Natalie said, “I also paid a visit to Noah Danforth. He had the shades down in his apartment and was pleading a migraine. I think someone put the fear of God into him. What’s your take on Meryl?”
“She’s clean as far as I can see. Why?”
Natalie tapped her pen thoughtfully. “The proximity of the shop to Sophie’s is interesting. It’s provided the perfect place for you to spy on Sophie. It would be useful for anyone who was waiting to pick up those coins.”
“But she’s seldom around. She only dabbles in running a business.”
Natalie slid out of the booth. “We’d better hit the road. I’ll drive. I’ve seen your car.”
“GOOD WORK,” he murmured into the phone. “Excellent. I’ll have to give you a bonus for this.”
As the voice on the other end of the line continued, outlining the details, he had to admit it seemed foolproof. It really was so easy to trace calls made on cell phones nowadays. And he could rest assured that Sophie Wainwright would not appear at her shop tomorrow.
He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. The Puppet Master would be able to supervise the last part of the game himself.
After slipping into his jacket, he plucked a rose out of a vase, broke off the stem and slipped it into the buttonhole of his lapel.
Then he would have to be very careful to clear the chessboard. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by leaving any loose ends.
THROUGH THE GLASS DOORS that opened onto a balcony, Sophie could see that the sky was graying, the day slipping away. Just as Tracker was slipping away.
No. She pressed a hand against the small bubble of fear that had formed in her stomach when she’d awakened in his bed and found him gone. It was ridiculous to feel abandoned. There were phone calls he had to answer, arrangements he had to make for tomorrow.
She was being paranoid, but she couldn’t rid herself of the fear that he was withdrawing from her again and that the afternoon they’d just shared had been some kind of going-away gift to her. When they’d come back from their ride, he’d taken her to bed, and his lovemaking had been so different, so sweet and unhurried. He’d made her feel fragile, treasured, loved.
Loved. She hugged the word to her for a moment. Then she glanced at the empty bed and the rumpled sheets. And now he was gone.
When she heard the phone ring, she thought it might be Tracker checking on her. But after picking up the extension on the bedside table, she figured out it was her cell and dug it out of her purse. “Hello?”
“Sophie, are you all right?” Mac demanded immediately. “Lucas just finished talking to Tracker. We heard the news about John Landry when
we came into Key West for dinner.”
“I’m fine,” Sophie said as she sank onto the edge of the bed and tried to gather her thoughts.
“Lucas told me that Tracker is handling everything, but I just had to hear your voice.”
And it sounded strained, even to her own ears. Focusing, Sophie tried for an annoyed tone. “Thanks to Tracker, I can’t go into my shop without tripping over Wainwright security men.”
“Good,” Mac said. “You can depend on him to take care of you. But I told Lucas we should cut our trip short.”
“Absolutely not. There’s nothing that you could do.”
Mac sighed. “Well, I could make sure that you’re not alone. You could stay with us at the town house. I keep thinking of you all alone in that apartment.”
Sophie glanced around the room. “I’m not there. I’m at Tracker’s country place.”
There was a beat of silence before Mac said, “Well. Lucas and I have never been invited to his country place. Things must be going pretty well between the two of you.”
It hadn’t occurred to Sophie until that moment how much she’d really missed having Mac around to talk to. “I don’t know how well things are going. One minute they seem great. He’s so kind and romantic.”
“Romantic? Now I’m jealous,” Mac said.
Sophie laughed and felt some of her tension ease. “Yeah, right, like you haven’t turned my brother into a mush ball.”
Mac sighed again. “I know. But Tracker has never impressed me as the romantic type.”
“No. The problem is he’s romantic one minute, then he pulls away the next.”
“That doesn’t surprise me considering what happened to him as a kid. He doesn’t talk about it, but after his mother died, he was put into the foster care system. He got into a lot of fights and that meant he was moved around a lot. He told Lucas once that his father was a violent man, and he was afraid his temper meant that he’d inherited some of his father’s tendencies.”
“Mac, he’s the gentlest, kindest man I’ve ever known.”
“Then all you have to do is have the patience to convince him of that.”
Sophie leaned back with a sigh. Patience had never been her long suit. “You know, this whole thing was easier when all I was going to do was play some games with those sex toys of yours.”
Mac laughed. “Yeah. Sex is the easy part. But don’t get discouraged when he pulls away. Your brother once left me in a hotel room in Key West and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”
“Really? What did you do?”
“I went after him.”
TRACKER LET NATALIE GIBBS and Chance in the front door just as Sophie descended the wide sweep of stairs in the foyer of the house. He felt her accusing gaze at the back of his neck before he turned to face her. “We’re having a strategy meeting,” he said.
Her brows shot up. “I thought we agreed that I would be filled in on everything from now on.”
“Of course. I didn’t tell you they were coming because you needed the rest. But we’re going to need all the brain power we can get for this.” His voice sounded stiff, formal. He was still angry with himself because he hadn’t really wanted to leave her in his room to rest. When they’d come in from the stables, he’d taken her there, intending to let her sleep. But he hadn’t been able to leave. Worse than that, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from touching her and then making love to her. Even when she’d fallen asleep, he’d barely been able to summon up the will to leave the room. But she’d needed the rest, and he’d needed to clear his head.
Now he could see in her eyes that she was annoyed. That was good, he told himself. It would help both of them maintain some distance. Even as he reminded himself of that, he moved to her and took her hand. Her annoyance faded immediately, and beneath it he saw the hurt. Before he could even think to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. “There’s bad news, Sophie. We’ll go into the living room, and Natalie and Chance can fill you in.”
An hour later, Tracker made himself lean back in his chair and concentrate on easing the tension out of his shoulders. Sophie had taken the news of the two deaths in England very well, and she was proving to be a very active participant in their strategy session. It was at her suggestion that they’d narrowed their suspect list to people who had been at Millie Langford-Hughes’s party and had mentioned ceramic pieces.
They’d placed the names on separate folded sheets of paper and lined them up like place cards. Millie Langford-Hughes, Sir Winston Hughes and Chris Chandler. Natalie had insisted that they make a card for Noah, and they’d marked Chandler’s card with a star to indicate that the Puppet Master might be one of his customers.
Tracker shifted his gaze to Sophie’s two other interrogators. They worked surprisingly well together, considering how different their approaches were. Natalie Gibbs had a razor-sharp mind that worked in a relentlessly linear path, while Chance’s mind seemed to hopscotch all over the place. Together, they’d grilled Sophie pretty thoroughly on everything she could recall about the buying trip she’d made to the British Isles in the middle of May.
Sophie pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Yes, there were customers in the shop that day, but I was concentrating on business.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I don’t think I could describe one of them if I tried. I remember John Landry because he talked to me.”
“Close your eyes,” Natalie suggested. “Try to picture them as if they’re in a movie you’re playing in your mind.”
Sophie leaned back in her chair. “There was a family with a little boy. He wanted to touch everything, and every time his parents looked away, he did. He would have broken a vase if this woman hadn’t grabbed it when it dropped from his little hands.”
“What did she look like?” Natalie prompted.
“Stocky, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat. She laughed to reassure the little boy—a deep laugh, and she had large hands. I remember thinking that when she caught the vase. And that’s all I can remember.”
“Let’s try a new tack,” Tracker suggested. “I’m willing to bet that whatever triggered the killing spree happened the night of the party. The third coin was supposed to arrive that day. What if the Puppet Master was tempted to get a little too close this time and someone, perhaps John Landry, spotted him?”
Chance rose and began to pace. “That might explain why he left in such a hurry.”
“He seemed excited when he said goodbye to me,” Sophie said. “I asked him what was wrong and he said something about seeing a stranger who looked familiar.”
“Anything else?” Tracker asked.
“He was flying back to England the next day.”
“That means he was pretty sure that we’d have everything tied up by then,” Chance said.
“Backtrack a little. Can you remember what you were talking about before he mentioned the familiar-looking stranger?” Tracker asked.
Sophie thought for a minute. “He came over to say goodbye, and then…we got to talking about the ceramic pieces. He mentioned that Matt Draper wanted to know if I’d gotten the horse. I forgot all about that.”
“Can you remember what you told him?” Tracker asked.
Sophie met his eyes. “I told him that I’d liked it so much I’d taken it right upstairs to uncrate by myself. I’m sorry I didn’t remember that before.”
“Upstairs. If you didn’t mention your apartment specifically, he may have thought you uncrated the horse in the second-floor display room, and he might have gone to get it,” Tracker said.
Chance sat back down at the table. “Okay. He saw someone he thought he recognized, and he thought he knew where the piece was, so he had the perfect bait to lure the Puppet Master out into the open.” Chance glanced first at Tracker and then at Sophie. “Who did he talk to before he left the party?”
Tracker shook his head. He’d seen Landry kiss Sophie on the cheek, and had felt a stab of jealousy. All he could recall was walking
across the room to deliver the quickie coupon to Sophie. All he’d been thinking of was her.
Sophie frowned. “He could have talked to anyone on the way out.”
“Or he could have set up the meeting after he left. We’re no closer than we were an hour ago,” Chance said.
Glancing at her watch, Natalie Gibbs rose from the table. “We better hit the road,” she said to Chance. “I’d like to run a few things down at the office, and then I’m going to go to bed and give my subconscious a chance to mull this stuff over.”
“Good idea,” Sophie said.
Chance rose and walked with Natalie toward the door. “I can think of a lot more interesting things to do in bed besides mull.”
“I’m sure you could, but then you’d run the risk of blowing your cover, hotshot.”
“Ouch,” Chance said as he pulled an invisible knife out of his chest.
FOR A FEW MINUTES after they left, Tracker was busy on the phone, and Sophie used the time to rearrange the place cards on the table. There was a thought tickling the edges of her mind. It had been nagging at her like an itch just out of reach since… If she could remember exactly when it had started, she might be able to grasp it. Frowning, she thought hard. Nothing.
“What is it?” Tracker asked.
She pressed a hand to her temple. “I don’t know. Something that we were talking about…it’s just out of reach. I’ll remember when I’m not thinking so hard.”
“You should get some sleep. I have more arrangements to make.”
Sophie felt a band tighten around her heart. So they were back to formality, were they? She’d just see about that. Rising, she moved until she was behind his chair and then placed her hands on his shoulders. “If you’re thinking about making some big sacrifice and sleeping on the couch over there, I’ll come down and find you.”
“Sophie, you need the sleep, and so do I. I need to be sharp in the morning. I want to get this bastard.”
For a moment she said nothing. His selection of the singular pronoun hadn’t escaped her. She carefully lifted her hands off of him before she gave in to the urge to choke him or, better yet, box his ears. Oh, she should have seen it coming. He was becoming as easy to read as a kid’s book. But she’d been blinded by him, softened by the day they’d just shared and what she was coming to feel for him. And he’d probably done it all on purpose. For that possibility alone, she was going to make him pay. Later. Right now, she had a deal to close and it was going to take a cool head.