Over the years, Miss Preston's mental radar had been sensitized to detect anyone projecting more than normal curiosity about Mr. Underwood. He had been investigated by enough government agencies to make alphabet soup: IRS, SEC, FDA, CIA, FBI, and HUD, to name only a few. Recently, even the Escondido Police Department had tried to link him to some little man's death. It was from that kind of badgering that she had to protect him. Gordon Underwood was a genius. Her duty was to keep him from being annoyed by all the jealous people who constantly tried to find a way to lower him to their cretinous level.
The end of Miss Preston's allotted time approached. "Would you like me to run their pictures through the computer and see if I can come up with anything?"
"No. Transmit all four of the freeze-frames to me right now. I want to run the check myself. Put both of the video tapes in my safe for the moment. I'll have King fly down to pick them up tomorrow. What did L.A. tell the woman?"
"What she believes to be the truth. That you're in Nevada on foundation business this week."
"Good. Has Nevada been contacted?"
"No one unexpected has shown up yet today, but I told your girl there someone may turn up with or without a legitimate excuse to see you. Either way, I instructed her to say you got called back to San Francisco on an emergency last night"
"Fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything from her. If they both show up there, Ill have to figure out what to do about them."
Underwood started to hang up when he had an afterthought. "Oh. Miss Preston. Good work." He pushed the disconnect button, cutting off what he supposed were her words of appreciation for his praise. Occasionally, one had to pay compliments, but one should not have to be subjected to the gushing foolishness that followed.
Chapter Five
Even a sheet of paper is lighter when two people lift it.—Korean proverb
Steve forced her eyes to remain open, staring at the face too close to hers to make out any features except the tightly closed eyelids. This was much worse than if he had hit her. The lips crushing hers held her face as immobile as the rest of her trapped body. What was most humiliating about her position was not that she had lost the struggle so quickly, but that he was prompting a response from her that she had no intention of giving. She could not give in to the temptation to close her own eyes and let the warmth spread through her. She would not part her trembling lips to give him the entry he was silently demanding.
As suddenly as the kiss began it ended. The man on top of her continued to hold her in place, but he lifted his head far enough away for her to see him clearly. He had the oddest look on his handsome face, like surprise. Was he surprised that she had not welcomed and returned his kiss, or surprised at his own actions? Steve did not get a chance to analyze the expression before it was wiped clean. This time she forced herself to hold her tongue until he spoke first. When he finally did, however, she wished he had remained silent.
"I trust I did not hurt you. That was not my intention," he said.
That voice! It was like nothing she had ever heard before, perhaps because it was more a matter of feeling than hearing. The deep masculine sound had a resonant quality to it that reminded her of the physical vibration she felt when the bass on the stereo was turned up too high. His speech had a hint of a brogue, but not quite Irish. Steve was unable to stop the shiver that passed through her when he spoke again.
"I was concerned that if you continued your attack you might injure yourself. If you promise to remain calm, I will release you."
Steve recovered sufficiently from the humming affect his voice had on her to be furious with his words. Who the hell was he? How dare he kiss her like that and not offer an apology or an explanation? She opened her mouth to vent her anger and lost her chance.
His mouth covered hers again, gentler than before, but just as domineering. Steve felt his tongue push between her teeth and was about to clamp down on it when astonishment stopped her. If his voice had been unusual, the feel of his tongue in her mouth was completely unreal. Rather than the smooth, slick appendage she expected, it was rough against the sensitive roof of her mouth, firm as it slid along her own tongue.
He did not invade but stroked and tasted every part of her mouth, as if it were a totally new experience for him and he did not want to miss any of it. Suddenly he emitted a groan that she felt all the way to her toes. No, it was not quite a groan she realized through a fog of sensation. It was like a ... a purr.
"You were angry. You are not angry any longer," he analyzed aloud. "I leave it to you to decide whether we have a conversation or more kissing. The kissing seems to calm your anger and you do taste very ... interesting."
He cocked his head a little and gave her the briefest excuse for a smile, one that displayed his straight pearly whites for only an instant. This man was harder to read than most. His eyes gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
"Why, you—" Steve cut herself off as his face closed in on her again. "No, wait, please." She had to figure a way out of this and his kisses seemed to drain her brain. He had just taught her an entirely new way of subduing an opponent. "Look, this may all be very entertaining to you, but I—I landed on something hard. My back is killing me. Please let me up now."
In another quicksilver move he rolled over, reversing their positions. Steve found her arms trapped between them as he held her firmly against him, using only one arm. Her legs were spread wide and locked in place by his. She felt like she had been placed in a vise, an extremely embarrassing one at that. This position was even worse. She was centered so intimately against him that she could feel the pulse of his hardened manhood. A frustrated whimper escaped her before she could stop it.
His free hand slipped beneath the back of her shirt and a moment later both her gun and handcuffs were tossed out of her reach. Steve started to object when his hand returned to the small of her back where the tools of her trade had made bruising indentations. Lightly, his fingertips touched the spots then moved in small circles, leaving tiny trails of heat that made the desert sun seem cool.
Steve's mind and body were at war. She should be struggling, fighting, doing something other than permitting this stranger to touch her. But her natural honesty made her admit that being completely at this man's mercy was possibly the most pleasurable thing that had happened to her in some time.
His hand abandoned her back for a moment and moved to her face. Ever so softly he stroked her hair. When his fingertips applied a gentle pressure against her temple, Steve felt her eyelids lower of their own accord. The next moment she gave up the fight; her mind surrendered along with her body. The little voice in her head had never failed her before, and now it was insisting that this man posed no threat to her.
She relaxed a little more and tried not to flinch when his fingers moved from her face to slip into the back pocket of her jeans. The weight of his hand in her pocket thrust her harder against him, but as Steve watched him, she had the impression he was either ignoring his aroused condition or completely oblivious to it. She, on the other hand, was finding it exceedingly difficult to think of much else. The only evidence he gave that he was not totally at ease was a slight catch in his throat when he spoke again—or did she imagine it?
Smoothly, he removed her ID folder from her pocket and read, "Stephanie Barbanell, Private Investigator. You are a law enforcement officer?" She made no response. He studied her ID, quickly comparing her picture with her face.
Steve felt the leather being slipped back into her pocket, and determined not to notice that his hand remained there.
"Look, I have no gun. You've already proven you're faster and stronger than I am. I'm obviously not in any position to take advantage of you. You know who and what I am now, so how about letting me up for a little reciprocal show and tell?"
"Show and tell?"
He actually sounded like he did not understand the expression, but then he must be teasing her. Considering what they already knew about each other's bodies, ther
e may have been something to show, but not much left to tell.
Her close-mouthed adversary hesitated a moment before slowly releasing the iron grip he had on her upper body and untangling their legs. With a ridiculous amount of chivalry, he helped her to her feet, retaining her hand as he bowed slightly. "My name is Falcon. At your service."
Steve could not hold back the silly bubble of laughter. Was she supposed to pretend they had not been rolling around on the ground for the last five minutes? Well, to hell with him! She could act like all that touchy-feely stuff meant nothing to her, too.
"You find my name humorous, Stephanie?" Falcon continued to hold her hand, obviously not ready to give her complete freedom yet.
"First of all, nobody calls me Stephanie. I'm Steve. What's Falcon? Some sort of code name? Let's see some ID now, okay?" When he started to pull her along with him, away from the van, she rebelled. "Hey! Hold on! My gun!"
"We are only walking over there. My identification is in my bag. You said you wanted to see it."
Reluctantly, Steve went along, automatically calculating how many seconds it would take her to run back, grab her gun, and jump in the van. He would have to let go of her hand when he reached inside his bag. If she was balanced and ready to bolt, she might make it. Suddenly another thought intruded. What if this was only a ploy to get her further from the van while he retrieved a weapon from his bag? She would be turned away, running, her back an easy target. If that was the case, though, why wouldn't he have already....
Too late! He tightened the grip on her hand, as if he sensed her intention, and opened his bag with his other hand. Steve's breath came out in a soft puff of relief as he handed her his wallet and released her at the same time.
The ID looked real enough. He was the man in the photo: A. Falcon, Interpol. Steve studied it for a long moment. It was certainly possible. He had made her think he was a pro from the beginning, but Lou's assurance that he was not a Fed had left her wondering.
"What does the A stand for, Falcon?"
"I prefer to be called Falcon, Steve."
"Touche. Where are you from? I haven't been able to place the accent."
"Wales," he answered without hesitation.
That explained the almost Irish brogue. "Okay, say I believe you are with Interpol. Why are we tripping over each other? What are you doing here in the States?"
"I am here to retrieve a valuable item stolen from my... country. Also, we believe an abduction has occurred by the same person who has the item."
"You're working on the Nesterman case, too?" Steve wanted to bite her tongue. Where was her head? She could hardly withdraw her admission, but perhaps it would encourage some openness on his part. "So, you are after Underwood. Whatever Nesterman was working on must be pretty high-powered to get Interpol involved. Or was it the item you mentioned? An antique or artifact maybe?"
Falcon nodded. "The man named Underwood has a ring that does not belong to him. If I can track him, I will find the ring. And you? You are looking for Underwood in hopes of finding .. .Nesterman." It was more of a conclusion than a question.
"Yeah. Well, the bottom line is, we're after the same man, and the way Underwood's operation works, it won't take him long to figure out something's up. When he does, he'll crawl further under his rock. Why the hell did you have to show up in two different places at the same time as me? Why didn't you do something about your appearance?"
"What is wrong with my appearance?"
"If you're fishing for compliments, forget it! You've got to realize two women working for the same man, even in different offices, might just talk to each other! If so, they would be abnormal if they didn't mention seeing a man who took their breath away. Geez! You're even wearing all black again! Doesn't Interpol teach their agents anything about low profile? Meanwhile, since we showed up at the same time, you probably blew my cover as well, intentionally or not. Damn! Those were two of my best routines, too. Well, I suppose we can always hope those secretaries don't have daily conversations and no one's expecting us here."
Steve relaxed her stance, paced for a moment, and turned back to Falcon. "I'm not giving up yet. Maybe I can get away with one more disguise since my agency has already arranged to mess up Underwood's phones." The Interpol agent had stood quite still for her lecture, not arguing, not defending himself in any way. She figured he would comply with her orders now that he understood.
Using her most authoritative voice, she finally said, "Okay. Listen up. I'll go in as planned since I've got the cover. You stay here. I'll let you know when I come back if Underwood's in there and you can go right ahead with whatever you were planning before I interrupted you—whatever that was you were doing out here. They have a camera outside the shack, but they couldn't possibly have seen our little dance from this distance."
"No."
His refusal stopped her just as she started back for the van. She spun around to face him again with her hands on her hips, and braced herself for a different kind of fight with this insufferable man. "No? You're not going in there ahead of me, and I'm sure as hell not planning on showing up with you in tow again! You're too easy to spot."
"I do not object if you come along with me, but I will not remain here. I must get as close as possible to do what I do best."
Steve sighed loudly. "And what, pray tell, do you do best?" She held on to her superior attitude, but her thoughts flew back to the way his kisses had momentarily scrambled her common sense. The blush that warmed her cheeks must have given her away because he flashed her another half-smile before replying in a serious tone.
"I track. Since you are trying to locate Underwood as well, would it not be reasonable to combine our efforts rather than get in each other's way? You have already pointed out a serious oversight on my part. Perhaps you could prevent me from making any further mistakes of that type, and I might be of assistance to you in some way."
"Oh? How do you figure that? I don't work with partners if I can avoid it."
"You admitted I am stronger and faster than you. You are good, but I am better. You may need help in that way, but I also have other talents that could be useful."
Steve was almost surprised to find herself seriously considering his offer that they work together. She had a lot more questions to ask him before she would trust him, but they were not accomplishing anything, standing here arguing. If he was truly an Interpol agent, she could verify it with Dokes later. In the meantime, it might be better to keep this guy close enough to see what he was really up to, and working separately only guaranteed they would continue stepping on each other's toes. They could both end up losers that way.
"All right. We'll work together for now, but we've got to do something to make you less recognizable. What have you got in your bag?"
"I have another set of clothing identical to what I am wearing."
"Swell. Let's see what I've got in the van."
Wordlessly, he followed her, carrying his tote. She retrieved her gun and handcuffs, then climbed into the van. A moment later she reappeared, carrying her bag of tricks. Steve rifled through her belongings, searching for a simple yet effective disguise for Falcon.
"Take off your shirt and put this on." She held out a large white, vee-necked tee shirt. As he stripped off the black shirt and made the trade, Steve knew she was staring, but could not seem to ignore the visual treat he offered. His skin was a golden tan stretched smooth over squared shoulders and firmly muscled arms. The nipples on his bare chest hardened beneath her gaze, and she found herself making fists with her hands to keep them from grazing that smooth expanse. He looked like a Greek statue.
Steve wished he was a cold block of sculptured marble instead of the warm flesh and blood she had already encountered a bit too familiarly. She frowned slightly when she realized that her tee shirt, which hung loosely on her, showed off more of his masculine appeal than his own shirt had, but at least it provided him with a disguise.
Holding up a plain, white painters hat, she
appraised his thick hair. "Well have to tuck it up and hope the cap holds it there. I don't have any hairpins." When Falcon cocked his head, she didn't bother to explain. "Here, hold this." Steve handed him the hat and reached to gather up his hair. Oh. God, it's like petting an angora cat! She took a deep breath to get on with her task and realized how close they were standing. Her breasts brushed against him as her chest rose and fell. She could smell the scent of soap and it made her think of him in the shower.
"I can't do it," she murmured, quickly backing away. "Your hair's too ... Uh, there's just too much of it. Maybe you can do it."
Falcon bent over at his waist and efficiently twisted his hair into a knot that the cap secured well enough. Suddenly he pulled the neckline of the borrowed shirt up over his nose and inhaled deeply, before letting it fall back in place. "It smells like you. I would not think this piece of clothing would fit you very well."
He was not touching her, but his eyes held her. "I... I sleep in it." Her voice came out in a sultry whisper that implied much more than her words revealed.
Falcon continued to watch her for several seconds, but again Steve could not fathom what was on his mind. She wondered if he ever played poker. The odd thought seemed to break the spell.
"Is there anything more to this disguise? If there is not, I think we should be on our way."
"Oh, yeah, one more thing." Steve handed him her large sunglasses. She pulled a San Francisco Giants' baseball cap out of her bag and put it on. "That's it! Let's rock 'n' roll."
He looked at her inquisitively, shrugged his shoulders, and walked around to the passenger's side of the van.
As they came to a stop in front of the shack, Steve laid down the rules. "I'll do the talking. You'll be a trainee, so you won't have to look like you know what you're doing. I understand it's like a maze down there, so the only hope we have of getting to Underwood's office is if we're taken right to it. His private line has been put out of commission, and his security people are expecting a telephone company repairman. If the data I've been given is accurate, they already have the van on their monitors and someone will appear to escort us in."
Topaz Dreams Page 7