The Baby Chase

by Jennifer Greene

  Whiskers tickled the swell of her breast. His mouth discovered the swell, then explored until he found the nipple. He buffed it, polished it shiny with his tongue until the tip wrinkled and tightened. Her breath started coming in loose stitches. Her pulse was rushing like a jet revving for takeoff. Anyway, anyhow, she twisted on his lap, she could feel his arousal growing, pulsing, a clear warning if there ever was one to slow down, cool down and think.

  She didn’t want to cool down. She’d felt longing before, but not this ache of belonging. She’d felt need before, but not this fever of desire. Her hands pushed at his shirt, past starched linen to fever-warm skin and bristly tufts of chest hair. His skin smelled warm, clean, male. His heart thundered under her touch, his response so real and raw, so honest. Like Gabe. So volatile, like Gabe.

  Like a man imprisoned too long in solitary confinement, he seemed to be starving for sunlight. Flavors and textures assaulted her senses. They all seemed to have his name. They all seemed to spell out need. His need, to touch, to connect, to really believe there was another human being on the other side of that lonely, dark abyss. The fierce darkness in his eyes, the sounds he made, the way he kneaded and stroked any skin he could touch…Gabe made her feel like she was his sunlight. Like she was the only one with a key to that prison-cell door for him. Like he needed her.

  Her response was as natural as rain. She’d never felt this way with another man. Nor did she want to. No different from Gabe, she’d never exposed this vulnerable, naked level of need with anyone else. But with him, she could be honest.

  Perhaps too exuberantly honest. She almost poked his eye out, trying to yank his head down for another mouth to mouth kiss. Neither her elbows nor her knees seemed to be in the right place, not to touch him the way she wanted to. She caught a glint of laughter in Gabe’s eyes, but there was tension and frustrated desire in his gaze, too.

  His breath was coming as fast and rough as her own. She’d curled up her legs—the closest she could come to wrapping around him in that damned annoying chair—and his hand started stroking, a long, slow stroke of caress up the length of her leg. His palm slid against the silk stocking from her calf to her thigh, invoking shivers in his wake, a feeling as if she were sinking, sinking down a velvet intimate well. He pushed up her dress and cupped the curve of her hip, making a gruff aching sound, his voice rough as rust, as much wonder in that sound as there was frustration and raw need.

  “Becca…” he whispered fiercely.

  And then the telephone rang. The jangling, jingling brring startled them both.

  Rebecca stared blindly at Gabe for a millisecond, trying to scoop her mind back together. It took several seconds before reality registered—that she was in a hotel room, that the hotel room obviously had a phone, and that the location of said phone was a torturously long distance across the bed.

  The phone jangled again, even as Gabe was scooching her off his lap and forcibly standing her up. “Any other time, I’d suggest ripping the phone out from the wall, shorty. But I’m afraid a phone call in the middle of the night like this could well mean something serious. You’d better get it.”

  That logic was getting around to occuring to her, just a lot slower than it hit Gabe. She tripped and skittered around the bed to reach the bedside table before the phone could caterwaul another time. “Hello?”

  “Rebecca Fortune?”

  “Yes, this is Rebecca.” She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but then, she might not have recognized her own mother’s at that moment. Her whole body was still tuned in to Gabe, singing the blues, humming awareness and drumming low and wild about how close they’d come—how close they were—to making love. She just couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

  “This is Tammy. Tammy Diller.”

  If she’d needed a bullet to obliterate desire and force her ability to concentrate, the name announced by her caller worked better than buckshot. With a gulp of a breath, Rebecca sank onto the bed.

  “No,” Gabe said firmly. “No, no, no. You’re not meeting with that woman, Rebecca. Forget it. It’s out of the question.”

  “Now you’re just gonna have to calm down, Devereax. I’m not thrilled at the idea, either, but it’s not like I have another choice. I have to do this. That’s that.”

  “That’s not that, and you’re going anywhere near Ms. Diller over my dead body.”

  “I don’t know how Tammy found me—”

  “I sure as hell do. You’ve been asking questions all over town. All over two towns, for that matter. Dangerous questions, about a woman who could damn well be a murderess. Did I yell at you about not doing that? Did I? Dammit, that she managed to track down your name and where you’re staying is enough to give me ulcers. You’re getting out of sight and going home, shorty. And that isn’t a suggestion this time. I mean it.”

  “You might as well quit yelling. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, yeah, you are.”

  “Gabe, I realize you’re worried. So am I. But this is the first serious and real chance I’ve had to help my brother. Trust me, cutie. There is no one and nothing that’s going to stop me.”

  She said the last in a gentle, quiet, sure voice that made him want to wring her neck.

  Since her hotel room was cramped for space, he’d started pacing on one side of the bed. She’d started pacing on the other. Their eyes met on every pivot.

  He’d never fought with a woman. Ever. He certainly had never screamed on a vulnerable woman’s head. It went against every ethic and instinct about how a man behaved and treated a woman.

  Guilt sheared through his conscience in choppy slices. The guilt over yelling at her wasn’t too bad—hell, she was being as bullheaded and stubborn as a hound. If he had to wring her idealistic neck to keep her alive and safe, then that was the way the cookie crumbled. He’d intimidated men under his command with half this effort. So far, nothing had intimidated or scared that damned redhead—which struck Gabe as another proof that she was foolhardy and reckless. She had no concept of danger.

  So far, trying to intimidate her hadn’t worked worth beans—but he wasn’t through with her yet. He could live with having to be mean to her. In this case, the end sure as hell justified the means.

  But there was another brand of guilt slicing at his conscience. Guilt aroused from nothing more than looking at her, and it was the kind of guilt that slapped him like a storm, with dark winds and sharp, piercing spears of lightning.

  One of the skinny straps had broken on her dress. The bodice was hanging on the swell of her right breast, threatening further exposure every time she took a breath. Her mouth was scarlet from the pressure of his kisses. Her skin was still soft and flushed from desire.

  The glaring overhead light starkly illuminated everything about her. Her hair was like a sunset, shimmering golds and reds in a tangle of light every time she spun around.

  The bed between them was a knife-sharp reminder of how close they’d come to tumbling onto it. How much he still wanted to. How much he still wanted her.

  There was nothing wrong with wanting a woman. Nothing wrong with sleeping with a willing woman. But, dammit, this was Rebecca. She wanted babies. A family. She didn’t have a single life goal that wasn’t wholesome.

  Gabe couldn’t remake himself into a “wholesome” man. Getting naked with a woman was entirely different from getting intimate. He’d never deliberately hurt a woman, never come on to one who didn’t play for the same stakes he did.

  He’d never let a woman—or anything else—interfere with his work before, either.

  “I don’t believe I let this go so far,” he muttered darkly. “Tammy shouldn’t have a clue who you are, Red.”

  “If she hadn’t figured out who I was, she’d never have contacted me,” Rebecca said reasonably. “There wasn’t anything dangerous in the conversation, for heaven’s sakes. Actually, she sounded…nice. She apologized for calling so late. And all she really said was that she’d heard from some friends tha
t I’d been trying to look her up—she didn’t know why, but if I wanted to meet, it was okay by her, and she had some free time tomorrow.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes at her, mimicking a soprano voice. “You should never have bought in, shorty.”

  “I couldn’t wait to ‘buy in,’ as you put it. We want to talk to this woman, for Pete’s sake. She was dropping the opportunity right in my lap.”

  “Yeah. And she miraculously suggested a nice, quiet meeting place in the Red Rock Canyon area to do it. Tammy, Ms. Pollyanna, is no nature spirit. If she picked a deserted location like that, it sure as hell isn’t because she wants to meditate with you.”

  “You’re leaping to conclusions,” Rebecca said firmly. “We don’t know that she has anything dangerous in mind. There’s no way of knowing anything that’s on her mind unless I do this.”

  “Then we’ll never know—because there isn’t a prayer of your meeting with that woman alone.”

  “Gabe, she asked for me. Not you. Now, just stop thinking like an overprotective gorilla for a minute, and think about this. I have to go alone. I want to. A woman can always find a way to talk with another woman. She’s already volunteered to do this, and whatever she does or doesn’t say, I could read her face between the lines. You’d totally mess that up, love bug. Not that you aren’t adorable, but you do have a teensy tendency to be intimidating, and you’re really lousy at being subtle.”

  “I’m talking safety. I don’t give a rat’s ass about subtlety.”

  She had the outright nerve to shoot him a mischievous grin. “I rest my case.”

  “Rebecca, I don’t like this.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t like anything about this.”

  “I know.”

  In the end, he gave in—partly, and certainly not willingly. If it had been a choice, he’d have called her mama and had Kate lock her in a convent. As powerful a businesswoman as Kate Fortune was, though, Gabe no longer trusted that she had any power over her daughter. Nobody seemed to have any power over Rebecca—the woman was an ace-pro ulcer-producing walking nightmare.

  Unfortunately, she was his nightmare. There was no possible way to trust her on her own. Rebecca had a history of slipping the noose when it came to rules. He could put her on a plane, but he couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t hijack it and somehow manage to make that meeting with Ms. Diller. He had a nasty feeling that even roped, tied and quartered, Rebecca would still find some way to make that meeting.

  So. He set ground rules. She’d go—but he would travel to the location first, in a separate car. She wouldn’t see him, but he’d be there. She was to listen, to follow up whatever Tammy volunteered in conversation, but no way, no how, was she to mention Monica’s murder. She could make up any fairy tale she wanted to satisfy Tammy’s curiosity about why she was asking questions, but she was to duck any dangerous topics.

  Rebecca agreed to all those terms without a single hesitation. Gabe didn’t mention that he planned to go there armed…or that he would decide whether to stay out of sight, depending on how the whole scene looked and felt when he got there. She didn’t ask.

  She did, suddenly, yawn. A big, growly, noisy yawn, followed by a big-eyed blink and then a grin. “Fighting with you is sure tiring,” she said drily. “Good grief! Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  Actually he didn’t, but when Gabe glanced at his watch, he immediately reached for his tux jacket. “We’ll go all over this again tomorrow, before you go. If you’re supposed to meet her at two, let’s plan for an early lunch—like eleven. I’ll pick you up in your room here.”

  “That may be lunch for you, but it’ll probably be my breakfast. I’m guessing I could easily sleep in that long.”

  “Good idea,” Gabe said. Personally, though, he didn’t expect to sleep at all. There were arrangements to be made before tomorrow, from renting a second car to checking out that Red Rock Canyon site ahead of time. He made fast tracks for the door, then abruptly stopped. “Shorty…”

  He really wasn’t sure what to say, only that something needed saying. The telephone call from Tammy had broken the mood between them as effectively as a swim in the Arctic Ocean. Still, memories of that intimacy were between them now, and could fester into the wrong kind of sore if they didn’t deal with them.

  Her voice was softer than butter. “Are you planning to apologize for almost making love?”

  “Not…apologize.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. I want to apologize.”

  “It seemed to me that I came on to you. Not the other way around.” She rubbed a hand over her face, as if the gesture were catching. “I should have my mind on my brother, Gabe. He’s the reason I’m here. My head wasn’t on straight when Tammy called, and I can’t seem to stop feeling guilty about that.”

  “Well, deguilt, then, Red. Your brother is my job. However much love and loyalty is motivating you…you’re not used to this. You’re not used to dealing with scum, not used to hightailing it around the country, not used to people who live in shadows.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You’re also worried about your brother. Everything about the situation makes for heightened emotions and unpredictable feelings. When adrenaline’s pumping, no one thinks like they normally do.”

  “I’m thinking fine.” She met his eyes squarely. “I just didn’t choose a good time. I’m sorry for that…but I don’t regret for what I feel for you, or what we shared together.”

  “Yeah, well, when you get home, you’ll be back to wanting a house in the country and a swing set in the backyard. Babies. And a man who’ll give ’em to you.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it. Gabe saw the fragile vulnerability in her face, the hurt in her soft green eyes. Hurt he’d caused, hope he’d smashed. He took a last look at her face, then let himself out.

  The hall was deserted and silent. So silent he could have sworn he heard his heart, beating, beating.

  He’d been honest with her. Not intentionally unkind. She was prone to believing in illusions and white knights. She’d only get hurt worse if she believed those things with him. Nothing but blunt honesty had a prayer of getting through to Rebecca, yet he still felt a thick, ugly lump clog his throat.

  She was the moonbeams and sunshine he’d wanted to believe in—once upon a time. Gabe was uneasy with any fairy-tale words like love, but he didn’t try to deny there were things he loved about her. He wanted her to have the right to be exactly what she was—a damn fool, an altruistic idealist, a believer in dreams.

  The only way that could happen was if he protected her. Not from outside danger. From him.

  There was no chance he could be the man she needed. The man she wanted in her life. And Gabe knew it.

  Stabbing had always been Rebecca’s favorite murder method. She’d killed a few people with poison, used an old British Sten gun another time, ruthlessly drowned a couple, thrown a few more off cliffs. On her computer at home, though, was a suspense book, almost finished, in which the villain favored a silver dagger. Stabbing took a much more gruesome, vicious, face-to-face evil. Stabbing was so much more personal. Stabbing was so much more fun.

  One book reviewer, Rebecca recalled, had given her kudos for having a deliciously wicked mind. Sheesh, she hoped she did. But that was fiction. In real life, she suffered guilt when she killed a mosquito, and had positively never aspired to meet anyone who could be a murderer—or murderess.

  She buttoned her Dobby-weave cream shirt, tucked it into khaki slacks, then pushed her feet into hiking tennies. Her head was pounding and her stomach was queasy. This was the third outfit she’d tried on—which stressed the limit of choices available in her suitcase. Considering how many hours she spent creating greedy, violent killers, she had no idea what the proper dress attire was to meet a potential real one.

  Shamelessly cheerful morning sun splashed through the window as she grabbed a hairbrush. Her hair wanted to curl every which way, which was hardly a shock. She’d
never had a bad hair day, more like a bad hair life, but debating whether to pull the mop back with barrettes struck her as certifiable. She let it hang.

  She reminded herself—again—that because Monica Malone had been stabbed with a letter knife was no reason to assume that Tammy had done the murderous deed. There was no proof Tammy had been in the house at the time of Monica’s murder. No evidence that she’d ever touched that letter opener. And all along, Rebecca had had the niggling intuition that there was some connection between this Tammy and her family, but as Gabe incessantly reminded her, she did have an active imagination. That hunch had never been born out with a single fact.

  For that matter, if Gabe really believed Ms. Diller was guilty, Rebecca strongly suspected he’d have found some nasty, nefarious way to kibosh this meeting. Gabe just thought this Diller babe was your average untrustworthy criminal—pond scum, not safe company—but with a potentially valid link to Monica that could save Jake’s behind. Rebecca knew Gabe didn’t really believe in her brother’s innocence, any more than anyone else. And though the rest of the family thought Jake was innocent, they were willing to let Jake’s lawyers get him off. Rebecca, however, wasn’t about to take any chances with Jake’s freedom.

  Her brother was emotionally, mentally, ethically and in every other way incapable of stabbing that woman. Rebecca knew that positively. But if Jake hadn’t done the slaying, someone else had. And right now the only alternative suspect who’d surfaced anywhere on the planet was Tammy.

  The lady who—Rebecca glanced at her watch—she was supposed to meet precisely three hours from now.

  She tossed down the hairbrush, applied lipstick, blush, started hooking her mother’s charm bracelet on her wrist—no way she was leaving without that good-luck talisman today—and considered whether she had time to throw up. A legion of kamikaze butterflies were diving in her stomach, and every single one of them was nauseous. Their vote was unanimous…but Gabe was due. Overdue by two minutes, in fact.