by Meryl Sawyer
He stared at the wall, imagining Jenny on the other side in bed. He knew exactly what he had to do. Considering how blasted stubborn the woman was, he had his work cut out for him.
Thelma Mae judged her tenants by the way they kept their rooms. That’s why she preferred military people or those trained in law enforcement. They were taught the importance of order and organization.
She walked past Jennifer Whitmore’s room, already knowing her clothes would be scattered everywhere. There weren’t words to describe her bathroom. If he hadn’t asked, Thelma Mae would never have given Jennifer a room when there were others ahead of her on the waiting list.
But she owed him so much. Giving a woman and a specially trained dog a room seemed a small price to pay.
Thelma Mae actually liked Jennifer. She was smart and funny, a good person. Did she know what she was getting into? She shook her head, muttering to herself, “Jennifer doesn’t even suspect.”
Using the pass key, Thelma Mae opened the door to the suite she’d given Kyle Parker. She’d seen him leave at dawn, just minutes after Jennifer and Sadie had gone out the door.
“Something’s going on between them,” Thelma Mae said to herself.
Last night they had sat at opposite ends of the long table, but all during dinner Thelma Mae had caught them sneaking peeks at each other. She had a sixth sense about these things. Despite all the attention Kyle paid to Raven and Lisa as well as the two attractive female tourists, he was more interested in Jennifer.
It had all the makings of a love triangle. Big trouble.
Inside Kyle’s suite, she looked around. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Everything was put away and the bed made military style. You could bounce a quarter off it. The bathroom was spotless.
She peeked inside the chest of drawers, easing each drawer open as silently as possible. Previous experience had proven the drawers had a tendency to squeak even though nothing interesting was inside.
Taking a silent bet with herself, Thelma Mae opened the door on the wrought-iron nightstand. Sure enough, a box of condoms.
“My stars!” she whispered to herself.
Despite the rules, Kyle Parker had plans for Jennifer.
Not that Thelma Mae was fooled. She knew her guests ignored her orders. What fun would it be if they didn’t?
She counted the condoms once, then counted them again—just to make sure. If Kyle had sex at Thunder Island, she was certain to know about it. But if he should do it somewhere else, chances were she would still find out by recounting.
She left the room quickly and silently even though the only other person on this wing was Lisa. The woman never rose before noon, and even then, her brother had to get her out of bed.
Lisa Wilson was only a mediocre housekeeper, but she’d been terribly ill. Thelma Mae felt sorry for her and overlooked her sloppy ways. Lisa could have a relapse. Who knew?
Thelma Mae knew she should go tend her orchids. They were in their glory now, their exotic blossoms drawing comments from all the house guests. In the warm, humid climate, they easily reverted to their wild state and climbed the side of the house and became leggy. She couldn’t make herself go outside. Some inner urge drew her down the hall.
At the end of the corridor, she opened the sliding panel concealing the secret staircase. It was a narrow, steep set of stairs that led to a copula room and a widow’s walk. The sea captain who’d originally owned Thunder Island had built the large room for his wife. While he was at sea, she lived in the room and used the widow’s walk to keep watch for him.
Thelma Mae kept it spotless, never letting the maids—or anyone else—know about the secret room. She did all the cleaning herself, polishing the furniture and getting down on her hands and knees to buff the wood floor.
All for the man she could never call her son.
Chapter 5
Kyle stood behind Jennifer and watched her blast away at the target, occasionally hitting it. Sadie spotted him and came bounding over. Jennifer didn’t notice. She was concentrating—too hard—on the target.
“Hi, girl.” He leaned down and petted Sadie. “So you’re an expert witness, huh? Ready to take the stand?”
Sadie responded with an affectionate lick, her tail wagging furiously. Kyle kept stroking her, but his eyes were on Jenny. Today she was dressed in a T-shirt and cut-off shorts that showed off her tanned legs. The cut-offs were too short, he decided. The guys would have trouble concentrating on the complicated satellite surveillance system Kyle was explaining today.
He walked up to her and couldn’t help noticing the sexy way her T-shirt fit over her breasts. She should have stayed in the L. L. Bean gear. It wasn’t good for the men to be distracted.
There was nothing wrong with the way Jennifer was dressed, he conceded. It was just that she was too damn sexy for her own good.
He knew she saw him out of the corner of her eye, but she kept firing. One of the bullets actually hit the target’s torso. She stopped to reload, and he motioned for her to take off the earphones.
“Nice shot.”
She glared at him, and he was aware of the tension between them, a strange restlessness. He put it down to sexual attraction, yet it was more than that. It was the pressure of things left unsaid. Unfinished business.
Where were you all those years? What happened to you?
She looked him squarely in the eye, her blue eyes insolent, daring him to … to what? Kiss her was the first thought to cross his mind. Then he decided kissing was just his reaction. Jennifer loved another man.
“Want me to give you a few pointers?”
Something flickered in the depths of those baby blues. She wanted to tell him to drop dead, but even more, she wanted to pass the course. “A-ah, sure.”
“Load your gun and aim, but don’t fire.”
As she reloaded, he noticed her T-shirt.
If men had PMS—
how would you know?
They’d broken the mold when they made her—for sure. Still, he had to admit X-rated thoughts of Jenny had kept him awake most of the night.
He’d had time to mull over the story of the drug bust. Jennifer was obviously dedicated to her work and confident enough to stand up to everyone, insisting her dog was right. He wanted to ask her how she got into S&R. He wanted to ask her a lot of things, if she gave him the chance.
Fifteen years was a long time. In more ways than he could count, he was a different person. And so was she. He needed to keep this in mind.
“I’m ready.” She assumed the stance, feet apart, arms straight out, both hands on the gun.
Aw, man, did everyone get their ideas from television? Didn’t S&R get proper training? He came around behind her and circled her with his arms, placing his hands on her wrists, almost hugging her. He could have explained what to do or demonstrated, but what fun would that be?
His lips next to her ear, so close he could smell the clean scent of her shampoo, he said, “One hand on the gun; the other under that hand to steady it. Like this.”
He took his sweet time repositioning her hands. Then he slid one of his hands up her soft, bare arms to her elbow. Her entire body became rigid as if she’d been flash-frozen. “Bend your elbow just a little. Not only will you shoot straighter, it will cut down on the gun’s kick and save your shoulder.”
“Really?”
The word came out like a small sigh; either that or she’d been holding her breath. He guessed her shoulder was killing her. He moved his hand up to her shoulder and covered it. Man, was she small. Her shoulder fit in his palm. His other arm was still around her, supporting her hand under the gun. So? He must have forgotten about it.
“Your shoulder’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
She turned her head just slightly. Their lips were less than an inch apart. “Not really.”
“Liar.” He challenged her with a smile, but she didn’t take the bait. Nothing could persuade her to smile at him. “I’ve got just the gun for you.” He pulled the g
un out of her grip. “I’ll be right back.”
It took him a few minutes to check in the gun for her, Sadie at his heels, then go to the locked room in the building next door where he kept the special equipment he was testing. But it was worth it. When he came back he would have to show her all over again how to fire a gun.
He walked up with Sadie beside him. “This is a Colt smart gun.”
“I’ve heard of those,” she responded with genuine interest. “The only person who can shoot them is the owner. Don’t you have to wear a ring with a computer chip in it to pick up the signal from the gun to fire it?”
“The ones now on the market work like that.” He stood a little closer than necessary to show her the gun. “This is a new prototype I’m testing for them. It’s the lightest weight gun on the market and has less kick, which will help your shoulder.” He took the probe end of the small box he was holding in his other hand and inserted it into the handle of the gun. “This is a voice encoder. When I turn on the switch, I want you to say something.” He flipped the switch with his thumb.
“Something.”
He shook his head, switching off the device. “Smart aleck. Now, this gun has been voice printed. You’ll have to speak before it will fire. Your voice is the only voice the gun will respond to.”
“Wow! Cool,” she said as he gave her the Colt. She examined it closely. “It looks just like any other gun.”
“That’s microchip technology for you. The chip is very small so it easily fits in the handle. The only catch is you have to be within eight inches of the gun to activate it.”
“What makes it deactivate?”
“A heat sensor. If you put the gun down even for a second, the heat sensor deactivates it, and you have to talk to it again to get it to work.”
“Interesting.” There was a hint of a smile curving her lips.
“These guns will be standard in a few years. It’ll cut down on people getting shot with their own guns, which is what happens in most home robberies. It’ll also keep thieves from stealing guns, because they’ll be useless.”
“Hey, Jennifer, Kyle,” called Brody Hawke as he walked up to them.
The smile Jennifer beamed at the SEAL frosted Kyle. The kid was all right. Okay, more than all right. Brody was as intelligent and talented as anyone he’d ever encountered in the military. He didn’t hold it against Brody for kidnapping him and ruining his record.
But he didn’t want Brody Hawke hanging around Jennifer.
“I’ve got one of Colt’s new smart guns,” she told Brody. “I’ve need to improve my accuracy.” She bounced on the balls of her feet, excited. “I might be the only one able to stop a terrorist.”
A damn scary thought.
“I’ll help. I—” Brody began then stopped. Kyle gave Hawke credit. The guy took one look at him and knew the score.
“Would you?” Jennifer responded, obviously thrilled at Hawke’s offer.
“Later, maybe. I’m being sent to”—he turned to Kyle—“Cuidad del Este. I need to be totally prepared. That’s why I’m here at the crack of dawn.”
Aw, shit. Cuidad del Este. City of the East. It was a riverfront village of outlaws in the triple border where Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina converged in the jungle. Drug cartels, Lebanese terrorists, Yakuza from Japan. You name it. Hell on earth.
“A major drug source in South America,” Brody told her.
“Be careful,” Kyle said as Brody walked off toward the outdoor field course.
Jesus. The kid had no idea of what he was getting into. Once, he’d been like Brody, but he learned, coming close to dying first. He’d made the mistake of letting a woman distract him.
With a start, he realized Jennifer was gazing at him, her eyes full of questions. Sometimes he wondered what went through that pretty head.
“Okay, let’s see you shoot,” he told Jennifer.
She positioned herself properly this time, but Kyle seized the opportunity to stand behind Jennifer and put his arms around her again to make a minute adjustment to her hands. He took his sweet time, holding her closer than necessary. “Don’t lock your knees. Bend them a little.”
“I’m all set,” she said.
“Keep your eye on the part of the target you want to hit,” he said as he slowly pulled his arms away.
She fired. The bullet went wide, missing the target entirely. So much for smart guns. She kept firing. One bullet hit the mark and ripped off the arm.
“Keep practicing. I’ll check on you later.” He walked away. “Remember—knees and elbows bent. Keep your eye on the target.”
He went to the far end of the range, then looked back over his shoulder. She’d hit the torso twice. There was hope. Not much, but some.
Kyle spent the next hour on the field course with Brody Hawke. The kid was good, charging through the gamut of pop-up dummies, dodging the heat-seeking bullets, and coming out time after time with a perfect score. Kyle matched him, except he was slower, his damn leg keeping him from running as fast as he once did, but he was still a crack shot.
“When are you heading out?” he asked Brody when they took a break.
“Tomorrow.” Brody hesitated, uncharacteristically solemn, maybe a bit less confident. “What do you hear about Cuidad del Este?”
“Every major crime ring in the world operates out of there. Heroin and cocaine cartels. Middle Eastern terrorists who’ve found the heat turned up in their homelands. Smuggled arms. You name it.” Kyle looked at Brody, saying a silent prayer that the kid came back from Hell City. “Watch your back.”
Brody grinned, all charged up now. Kyle hesitated, not knowing what to say and seeing himself years ago when he headed out on his first assignment. He sure as hell hoped Brody made it out alive.
Kyle walked back inside and paused to watch Jennifer. She’d hit the torso a number of times, and one shot had actually grazed the side of the dummy’s head. He came up beside her, and she pulled back one earphone.
“I’m impressed,” he told her.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get over it.”
“Do you ever think before you open your mouth? I’m trying to help you.”
“Thanks.” She reloaded the gun he’d given her. “Kyle, you’re going to find this hard to believe—”
“Go on. You can’t mean it. You’ve done something that’s hard to believe.”
She released an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. Only a complete idiot would have thought she was praying. Why was she so determined to antagonize him?
Unfinished business.
“If we’re going to work together,” he continued, “we need to settle something.”
Her chin jutted out and she wrinkled her nose slightly. “Like what?”
“Like why you’re so damn angry with me.”
“What makes you think I’m angry?”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and rocked back on his heels, barely able to resist putting his hands around her pretty neck and squeezing. “You know exactly what I mean. Why are you so pissed at me?”
“Don’t start.”
“Why not? Just spit it out. A man would.”
“Well, I’m not a man.”
A fact that had not escaped his attention. Two beats of silence.
Jennifer pulled back the earphones and let them hang around her neck. “It’s not important.”
Uh-oh. This had to be a woman thing he didn’t truly understand. Surely Jennifer had gotten over him. She’d met someone and was going to marry him.
Come on, Parker. She threw a pitcher of margaritas at you. She’s pissed.
Maybe she still cared about him and that’s why she was so upset. She might not love Spike Roberts as much as she thinks. Suddenly, he felt more encouraged about the situation.
“Jennifer, you’re not over me, are you? You just won’t admit it.”
“That’s ridiculous! Of course I’m over you. Throwing the pitcher of margaritas got everything out of my system.�
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“Then why can’t we have a civil conversation?”
“Define civil.”
She wanted to play games. Okey dokey. He’d call her bluff.
Grabbing her and pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. He took shameless advantage of her startled gasp of surprise to sweep into her mouth with his tongue. Threading her hair between his fingers, he pulled her head back a little and deepened the take-no-prisoners kiss.
His aggressive tongue claimed hers in a way that even he had to admit bordered on the primitive. What had gotten into him? He was enjoying the kiss too much to think about anything else.
His pulse, already in high gear, skyrocketed. It had been years since he’d kissed Jenny. Too damn long. Sure, he’d kissed other women, but not like this. The more he kissed her, the more he needed to kiss her.
It was several seconds—maybe longer—before he realized she wasn’t kissing him. Her arms weren’t around him and her soft, pliant lips were merely submitting to his mouth. Nothing more.
He released her, silently cursing his misjudgment. Would he ever live long enough to figure out women?
“Just what was that all about?” she asked breathlessly.
“I was just distracting you,” he fibbed. “Turn around and shoot.”
She spun around, looking confused, and fired. The bullet landed square between the eyes.
“See? A perfect shot. Kissing me is good for you.”
Her blue eyes scorched a path across his face saying he was a ten on her weird shit—o—meter. “I prefer phone sex to a lousy kiss like that.”
He stormed off, seeing red. Lousy kiss? Who in hell did she think she was? No one else had ever complained about his kissing.
Chapter 6
“Come on, get a grip,” Jennifer said under her breath, but her body refused to cooperate. It was a miracle her knees could still hold her upright.
Her palms sweaty, she fired and fired, not really seeing the target. She loved Chad Roberts, and they were going to be married. She was furious with herself for the lingering glow of excitement still warming her body.