Deadly Valentine

by Davis, Justine; Davis, Justine

  “And you were dreaming about him? I’m so sorry.”

  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Trust me. Waking up to see your face in front of me was the nicest sight I’ve seen since I got home.”

  She smiled brilliantly, about knocking him clean off the bed. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

  “I don’t remember how to do nice.”

  Her gaze faltered and fell away from his. “Of course. I’m sorry. For a moment there I thought you might… It was nothing. Wishful thinking…”

  Aww, hell. He’d hurt her feelings. Or worse, scared her. He wasn’t kidding. It had been years since he’d dealt with a woman’s feelings. Since long before Kyrgyzstan. He was about as smooth as a pissed-off porcupine these days. He sighed and released her arms to cup her face carefully in his big hands. Her skin was delicious. All satin-and-white-chocolate smooth.

  “Tell me what you were going to say, Layla.”

  Her hands drifted to his wrists but she made no move to pull his hands off her. And, God help him, he had no will to stop touching her.

  “Please,” he whispered, desperate all of a sudden to know her mind. Or maybe he was just desperate to make some sort of normal connection with another human being that didn’t involve fear and torture and death.

  “Well, uh, I sort of…” She took a deep breath. “For a minute there, I thought maybe you were attracted to me.”

  Was that all that was bothering her? He sagged in relief. “You thought right.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re were right. I was…am…attracted to you. I was worried that I had scared you.”

  “You did when you were thrashing around and moaning. I’ve never heard such pain in someone’s voice. I can’t imagine what you were experiencing in your dream.”

  He gazed bleakly at her. “It wasn’t my imagination. I was remembering.” As dismay blossomed in her gaze, he added, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “I don’t mind—” She broke off. “Actually, I mind very much. No human being should have to suffer like that.”

  He shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

  “A job no one should have to do!” she declared indignantly.

  He smiled. “I’m all for wars ending forever. But I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon. Until then, men will continue committing atrocities against each other, and men trained like me will continue to be necessary to protect our national interests.”

  “No wonder you think you’re going crazy if you have to haul all that pain around inside you.”

  He smiled reluctantly. “Hauling around Peter’s little gift is worse.”

  She nodded sagely. “He could be a pain in the butt like that sometimes.”

  Frustration rolled through him, but he reminded himself that he was one step closer to solving the mystery of Peter’s secret than he’d been before he met Layla.

  He tried to smile his gratitude at her, but all that came to him was an inexplicable sadness that she’d had to see his private pain. No human being deserved to share what he’d been through. It was too much for him to bear, let alone some soft-hearted civilian with no training in how to deal with torture.

  She murmured, “How can I make things better for you?”

  He’d heard that line from women before, but none of them had sounded as genuinely upset as Layla. Of course, he hadn’t ever been handcuffed and had a full-blown panic attack at being restrained in front of any of the others, either.

  He smiled crookedly at her. “As tempting as it is to tell you how much I need comforting, I’m not the kind of jerk to take advantage of a woman’s sympathy like that.”

  She stared at him for a moment that stretched out between them like a giant rubber band, growing tighter and tighter until it thrummed with tension. “But what if I want to comfort you?” she whispered.

  The rubber band snapped back, slamming into him with a force that knocked the wind right out of him. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Colt?” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “You talk too much.”

  He laughed. That was a first. Most women accused him of being the worst sort of strong, silent male. But then her mouth was on his, all butter soft and sugar sweet, and any thought of laughter evaporated off him like water droplets on a hot griddle. Steam heat built crazily in his gut as her lips parted against his stunned ones. Her tongue traced the outline of his mouth. And then, somebody save him, she made a sound in the back of her throat that was part moan, part demand and part pure, freaking heaven.

  His arms swept around her, drawing her against him as he fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. She was tinier than he’d realized as she sprawled across his big body. “We really shouldn’t—” he started.

  “Colt?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hush up.”

  He chuckled as the buttons of his shirt fell open beneath her clever fingers and then—ahh, yes—her hands roamed across his chest. If she didn’t quit making that little sound like the best-tasting treat on the planet was melting on her tongue, he was going to lose what little sanity he had left.

  Her thigh pressed against the junction of his legs, her belly molding to his stomach as if she’d been made for him. His shirt fell completely open, and her silk blouse provided more titillation than coverage against his skin.

  “Honey, if you don’t stop this—”

  Her fingers touched his mouth and she rose up over him, his own personal angel, glowing brighter than the sun for him. She spoke gently. “If I do stop this, I’ll wonder for the rest of my life what could’ve been. I’ve lived with more than my share of regrets, and I imagine you have, too.”

  He had to give her that one. He’d had all the time in the world while he was imprisoned to examine his life and figure exactly how and where he’d screwed up.

  She gazed deep into his eyes, pinning him in place more firmly than any handcuffs ever had. “I don’t want to regret this, so I’d appreciate it if you would quit trying to be a gentleman and kiss me back, please.”

  What could he do? The lady’d said please. Without further ado, he surrendered to his very own Valentine angel. He surged up, rolling her over until she lay beneath him, ready and willing to save his soul. He stroked her hair back, running his fingers through the spun gold. It flowed like water over his hands. He kissed her eyebrows, her jaw, the perfect column of her neck. And then he slipped his hand behind her neck, lifted her to him and kissed her.

  Leaning on one elbow, he came up for air long enough to trail his fingers down her body, eliciting another one of those intoxicating sighs of hers. He reached for the hem of her blouse, easing it upward, slowly revealing the snowy flesh of her torso. The edge of a transparent black bra came into view. Not white lace, after all. Sexy black, instead. His angel had a naughty streak, did she? Exultation erupted in his gut at this discovery. He cupped her breast, molding its resilience with his fingers and relishing the way she arched up into his touch.

  A jangling noise startled him badly, and Layla’s eyes flew open as she lurched against him. Murder exploded in his gut at the interruption before his brain belatedly kicked in. Telephone. The device sitting on the nightstand jangled again. He reached across Layla and picked up the receiver. He glanced at the alarm clock beside the phone. Not quite 5:00 a.m.

  “What?” he snarled into the phone.

  “Two men just came and asked about you. They had a picture of you. I told them like you asked me to that we didn’t have any guests matching your description.”

  Colt swore luridly under his breath. “Have they gone?”

  “Yes. They drove out of the parking lot a minute ago. I waited until they were gone to call like you said.”

  “Good fellow. I owe you another hundred bucks for your help.” He hung up the receiver and looked down at Layla, still sprawled beneath him, more tempting than could possibly be legal. He swore again. “I’m sorry, honey
. We’ve got to go.”

  “Now?” she asked plaintively.

  He smiled at the regret in her voice. He knew the feeling. “Unfortunately, yes.” He ought to feel relieved. He undoubtedly had just dodged making a huge mistake with her. But instead he felt like putting his fist through a wall.

  He wiped down the room for fingerprints while Layla sat on the edge of the bed and watched him glumly. He made her stay behind him as they passed through the hotel lobby. He paused only long enough to palm a hundred-dollar bill to the clerk who’d saved their bacon, and then they slipped into the shadows of the parking lot. Layla was silent behind him while he scanned the area for hostiles.

  When he was positive their followers were indeed gone, he led her to his rental car. Avoiding major highways, he guided the car north as the sky turned gray, and then pink in the east. Layla was quiet and thoughtful, but he was afraid to ask her what she was thinking now that the bald light of day had banished last night’s strange magic.

  It was midmorning and he’d just finished refueling the car before she finally roused herself and spoke. “Where are we going?”

  “To Sturgeon’s Corners.”

  “Aww, crap,” Layla breathed.

  Chapter 3

  A s familiar buildings and streets began to pass outside the window, Layla rolled her eyes. “God, I hate this town.”

  “So did Peter,” Colt answered her grimly. “But it’s the logical place to start looking for this supposed jar trigger of his, don’t you think?”

  She frowned. “Won’t the bad guys arrive at the same conclusion?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got any choice. I’ve got to find his trigger and get Peter’s secret out of my head before he takes me over completely.”

  “Whoa. Takes you over?” she exclaimed. “You think he did more to you than just plant a hypnotic suggestion?”

  Colt threw her a dark look from the driver’s seat. “I think I might actually go a little crazy if I don’t get this thing out of my head,” he mumbled. “The dreams are getting worse. Peter’s in them all, and he keeps telling me to find the trigger. It’s getting creepy.”

  She turned in the seat to stare at him. “I’ve never heard of dreams making anyone nuts, but I believe you. Seriously, Colt, you need to get professional help with this. I’m a photographer, for goodness’ sake. I have no experience with anything like this.”

  “The pros couldn’t help. They don’t know anything about Peter Morrison. Everyone pretty much agrees that, until we figure out how and where he hid the trigger, I’m hosed.”

  She stared at him in dismay. No wonder the guy was having massive nightmares. “What do you expect me to do about your problem?” she finally asked.

  “I need you to tell me everything you know about Peter. What’s the significance of a jar to him?”

  “You do realize I know an awful lot about him, right? It could take me days to tell you everything.”

  He snorted. “It took him months to tell me everything he knew about you.”

  She winced at that. She could only imagine some of the humiliating things this total stranger knew about her. Although, after last night’s passionate exchange, maybe not so total a stranger. And she had to admit, after her near miss with seducing Colt, she was in much less of a hurry to escape his magnetic charm. He’d been right, of course. Under the circumstances, it would’ve been a bad idea for them to make love. Darn it.

  “Do you have anything specific in mind to try once we get to Sturgeon’s Corners?” she asked reluctantly.

  He shrugged. “I thought we could check out the places you and Peter used to hang out. See if anything triggers a memory in you about him. I have the feeling we’re looking for a single reference. Something he figured you’d remember.”

  She frowned, wracking her brain to no avail. What was she missing? Nothing whatsoever came to mind regarding Peter and jars. No significant memories, no funny moments, nothing that would’ve stuck in her memory. Darn him! Why did he have to be such a puzzle freak? He’d known just how much she hated riddles and brain teasers. Did he have to go and leave one last puzzle to torture her like this? And, oh by the way, leave some sexy hunk’s sanity hanging in the balance? Frankly, it sounded like a very bad joke, Peter style.

  “Are you sure this isn’t just Peter pulling your leg from beyond the grave? It wouldn’t be entirely out of keeping with his personality to pull this inappropriate a stunt.”

  Colt shoved a hand through his short hair, standing it up on end so sexily she had to look away before she threw herself on the man driving the car down the highway at seventy miles per hour.

  “I wondered that until people started trying to kill me. They believe Peter put something important in my head. Important enough to kill for.”

  “Why would they believe that?”

  “Pete was a brilliant scientist. Who knows what he said under torture? He might have talked about something he was working on for the government, or some invention he’d come up with. Believe me, I wish I knew.”

  She replied, “Well, Peter never talked to me about his work. He’d drop one technical phrase and I’d zone out.”

  “God, this is weird,” he muttered.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she replied.

  Colt turned left at the next stoplight and she grimaced as she realized where he was going. Peter’s house. The neat, craftsman bungalow was a different color than when she’d last seen it, and someone had added river rock cladding to the square pillars holding up the front porch. But beyond that, it looked the same.

  Colt parked the car across the street and turned off the engine. She watched him warily as he stared at her looking at the house.

  “Anything?” he murmured.

  She frowned. “No. And that doesn’t surprise me. This is the last place Peter would send anyone he remotely cared about.”

  “Why did Peter hate his parents so much? I mean, I know they didn’t accept him and thought he was…strange. But they were his folks.”

  “He didn’t hate them. He just wanted them to love him a little. He didn’t even need them to accept his oddities. But they never did give him the love he craved. They merely counted the years until they could get rid of him. At best, they called him an embarrassment. At worst, they declared him an abomination.”

  Colt frowned. “Pete never told me that.”

  “Guess he had a few secrets from you after all,” she commented. A spark of hope lit in her gut that maybe Peter hadn’t totally humiliated her before this man after all. But the next place Colt drove the car thoroughly dispelled that notion.

  She looked out over Sturgeon’s Corners from the scenic overview that also served as Lovers’ Lane for the local teen population. Most people would call the town a quaint fishing village. She just saw her painfully awkward youth and years of desperation to escape a place she had never fit in. This particular spot was also the site of the most embarrassing moment of her entire life.

  She and Peter had both been sixteen and a little drunk from the six-pack of beer and a couple of joints they’d shared up here one sultry summer night. That was the night they decided it was time to lose their respective virginities. It had never occurred to her to give hers to anyone else. She’d loved Peter since the first grade. Of course her first boy would be him.

  They’d giggled a lot while they struggled to get partially undressed in the back of his father’s Buick. And then there’d been the issue of figuring out where the extra elbow and odd knee was supposed to go. And then Peter had been fumbling between them and there’d been more laughter. And then a flash of fiery pain that had pierced her foggy mind. And then…

  She glanced over at Colt, who stared grimly out the windshield of the car, resolutely not looking over at her. Sick knowing washed over her. He knew. Her cheeks flamed and an overwhelming urge to crawl under the front seat nearly overcame her. She briefly considered jumping out of the car and fleeing. But Colt would just come after her and drag her
back here to pile disgrace on top of humiliation. She closed her eyes in a failed attempt to gather some calm to herself.

  Her voice thick with shame, she asked, “Do you know what this place is?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did Peter—” Her voice broke. She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words aloud.

  Colt answered her unspoken question heavily. “Yeah. He told me.”

  Her stomach dropped like a lead brick, taking the last shreds of her dignity with it. She turned away, pressing her forehead against the cold glass of the window. Her face surely had burst into fire, it felt so painfully hot. She mumbled, “I’d kill him if he weren’t already dead.”

  “I’m sorry.” Colt’s voice was grim. “I thought maybe this place would trigger some important memory—” He broke off.

  Oh, it had triggered a major memory all right. One she’d give a whole lot to forget.

  The same wind as fifteen years ago blew mournfully through the towering pine trees. The same sense of unreality flowed over her. The memory of Peter freezing above her moments after deflowering her, of him staring down at her in dawning dismay, filled her mind.

  “What’s wrong, Peter?”

  “You’re all…wet. And…squishy soft.”

  Epic embarrassment flared in her. “Well…yeah. I’m a girl. That’s how we’re made.”

  And then he slid out of her, sitting up and turning away in the dark. He stared out the window for a long time. Long enough for her to scramble away and put her clothes right. Long enough for a single tear to slide millimeter by millimeter all the way from the corner of her eye to her chin, tremble there for a while, and finally drop onto her tightly clenched fingers.

  “Is something wrong with me?” she eventually whispered.

  “No! It’s not you. I think…I think…” He paused a long time, then, “I think…I’m gay.”

  She’d stared at his averted profile that night, shocked to hear the words. Although, in retrospect, the signs had been there all along. She’d challenged the assertion, of course, declaring that it was just the shock of having sex for the first time that had made it feel weird to him. But when he’d reluctantly confessed that what he’d really wanted to do was flip her over—or better, have someone do the same to him—she gave up trying to talk him out of being gay.