a Touch of Intrigue (17 page)

“We collaborate.” Pierce pointed toward our ghost guy. “Found something in that drawer.”

“Move with me. I’m going to try and read over his shoulder.”

Pierce blinked. “You’re short. He’s tall.”

“So give me a leg-up.” Sometimes my man had no imagination.

I stepped into Pierce’s cupped hands, and leaned over ghost guy’s shoulder. “It’s a number of some sort. Damn, he put it in his pocket.” I started to shift position, then he pulled the paper out of his pocket, and stared at it. “Got it. M6342CN.” I gave Pierce a quick lip lock before I regained my footing. “We know what that is. The code number assigned to the cadaver my mother was working on. Remember there was information about it in the files I took from Fion Connor’s car.”

And then I looked at Pierce. “What?”

“Classic case. Referred to in—”

“Spy school?” It was written all over his baffled expression. “You never told me that.”

Big snort, then he pointed “Better keep up with him.”

The longer we followed Ghost Guy, the more the image faded. There was nothing else remarkable in the office or the guest bedroom, but the idea of an unused bedroom stopped me cold. “Why would they have a spare room? The number of people who know about this property is minimal, and I can’t imagine Millie welcoming any of them into her home…well, except maybe Aukele.”

“It’s empty, Belisama. Cold. Unused.”

“Yes, but that’s not like Millie. It smells stale. She would never allow that, besides she warms every room just by walking into it. Something is off here, and Ghost Guy didn’t spot it because he’s moved on to their bedroom. At least, I think he did. Or his image has faded to the point I can’t see it. Can you?”

“No. Want to search this room?”

I let go of Pierce’s hand, breaking our ESP connection, and then leveled my attention on him. “Yeah, I really do. I’m positive there’s something here, and I’m going to put my fingers to work on finding it. And while I’m doing that, you’re going to update me on whatever that code means. That information wasn’t in Connor’s file, and it might mean something important.”

“Eyes Only Confidential. Didn’t see the report. They used it as training about spy dust.”

There was something about that… I dropped to the floor, wound my legs into a half lotus, and closed my eyes. As I relaxed into the place Aukele had opened to free my childhood memories an unusually clear video started playing in my mind.

Pierce moved behind me. “You okay?”

I waved my hand in a “hush” motion. “It’s a memory. My mother in this room. Holy, holy shit.” I jumped to my feet, whacking Pierce in the chin with the top of my head.

He grunted, not happy. “Damn hard head. What did you see?”

“Sorry.” I kissed his chin. “My mom. One of those things she cached for me to find, it’s here in this room.” I bee-lined for the closet. “Now if I can just…”

I dipped into my memories, and started to replay the video but it started in a different place. My hands were dressing a doll. It was unnerving watching me from inside myself. But even more weird that I’d had a
doll
? My adult memory didn’t include dolls. I was a puzzle and outdoor kind of kid. I shrugged it off, and focused on what my mother was doing in the closet. She turned to me. “Come here, Baby. I want you to watch me open this, then we’ll see if you can do it.” She was making it into a game. And, yeah—watching my mom interact with me, the love pouring from her, and knowing the truth about the conspiracy she’d saddled me with—it was too much. I cried.

Pierce cradled me in a hug while he brushed my tears away.

I started to explain, but that shaky, hiccup-y, crying thing took over and I couldn’t talk.

“Give it a minute, Everly. I’m not going anywhere.”

It didn’t take long for me to get a solid perspective on the situation. “She loved me. Thought she was doing the right thing, but damn it all, I miss being the dumbass innocent I used to be.

Tynan crushed me tightly in his arms. “You have me now.”

His words couldn’t heal the past, but they filled our future with promise.

I soaked up his touch, and listened to the rain pounding on the roof. “And you have me. We should probably see what my mom hid in the closet.”

Pierce relaxed his hold on me, moved back. “Love having you, Belisama. Let’s get it done and go home.”

I knelt on the floor of the closet, and ran my fingers over the seam where the wall met the floor. “There should be a indentation here that I can fit the tip of a pen or pencil point in.” I glanced up at him. “You have a pen?”

“In the office.”

Pierce left to find a pen, and I planted my hands flat on the wooden closet floor, letting sensations and images wash through me. They were all from my mother, none from Millie or Harlan. Surely they’d been aware of the hiding place.

Pierce tapped me on the shoulder with a ballpoint pen. I pressed the tip into the indentation. It was a lot like adjusting the time on my car clock. Why they designed it so the driver needed an implement for such a normal and mundane task was a mystery. And my mind was wandering, a mechanism I often used when I wanted to escape from the moment. What if there wasn’t anything hidden here?

A click, a small section of the wall slid open, and a packet tumbled into my hands.

SIXTEEN

I CAUGHT THE PACKET BEFORE
it hit the floor, and images of my mom flashed across my internal monitor. The papers slipped from my hands. “It’s a dead body.”

Pierce nodded, calm. “Forensic anthropologist, right?”

I shuddered. “Yes. Guess she worked with dead bodies all the time. Horrible job. And the smell would be disgusting. I can barely handle fresh bodies. I bet this is M6342CN. Has to be, right?”

Pierce took the worn pages from my hands, and lifted me to my feet. “Could be. Home?”

I took a minute to gain my balance. “Good idea. It’s pitch black outside, so it’ll be slow-going. And we have a long night ahead to go through these papers.” I shuddered. “Besides, there’s probably critters out there.”

“Not fond of the mongoose?” He asked, leading the way downstairs.

“They’re fine, just not scampering over my feet.” I slipped outside, Pierce close behind me.

He caught my wrist. “I’ll lead. ESP vision.”

I motioned for him to move in front of me. “It’s really wet out here. That was a long and later-than-usual rainstorm. Wait up a minute, I don’t want these to get wet.” I stuffed the packet into the waistband of my cargoes. “Okay, let’s move. I want to be home now.”

Pierce set a faster pace than I’d thought possible, so I kept my hand pressed to my abdomen, holding the file in place. I didn’t want to chance losing any of the papers in my pant legs.

Thunder sounded a few times during our hike, but it was in the distance. “I hope you parents don’t have to land in a storm. Hey, you ordered a chopper for them, and the only place it can land is on the cottage roof. We should have just stayed there to wait, and damn it all, we forgot the soup.”

“I’ll bring it when I get them.” He picked up his pace.

“Hey, slow down. I can’t use Pierce-vision without closing my eyes, and that doesn’t work well if I’m moving. Could trip over a mongoose.”

He slowed, and my curiosity kicked in. “I don’t get why you’re making double trips.”

“Checking the security system. Need you at home to track the signals when I trigger the alarms.”

Of course he did. “Seems like you installed it days ago. I swear, this has been the longest day ever.”

“I’m with you on that, Belisama. House is up ahead. Wait while I clear the area.”

“Sounds good.” He had free hands, and I wasn’t about to let go of Mom’s papers, otherwise I would have mentioned that I was perfectly capable of clearing our home. I waited on the porch, watching while lights flicked on in the great room, then I turned my attention to the package, and freed it from the waistband of my cargoes. Mom’s work. In my hands. There had to be information about the formula, and how to nullify it.

Pierce opened the screen door, motioned me inside. “Need to show you the security system.”

And much to my frustration, he did precisely that—for too many long, drawn out, everlasting minutes. Minutes I could have spent sifting through Mom’s notes. Finally, he shook his head at me. “You’d have been more annoyed if I interrupted you later. This saved us a hell of an argument.”

“Yeah, it did. Besides, I need some coffee before I start working. And I needed to know what to do when you trip the alarms. Want me to make enough coffee for both of us?”

He headed for the kitchen. “I’ll do it. Skim the papers, but skip the details for now.”

The folder was screaming at me to get started, his request didn’t make sense, and my patience was frayed. “Why?” I snapped.

“Caffeine nap. Clears your head. Wakes you up.”

Crazy. “Seriously?”

“Learned the trick years ago. Go skim.”

I had to ask. “Does sex count as a nap?”

He grinned. “For us it does.”

Comfortable noise from the kitchen surrounded me as I spread the pages on the kitchen table. They were divided into three categories: a forensic study my mom had done on the cadaver labeled M6342CN, information about the history of spy dust, and some complex equations that made no sense to me whatsoever.

Pierce placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, and I inhaled deeply. “Cinnamon. Thank you. And high-five me. I was right about that code being assigned to the spy dust cadaver. Take a look at this. Do you think that dust has something to do with Mom’s formula?”

He straddled a chair, and riffled through the file. “Doubt it. The stuff isn’t toxic, just visible under the right conditions.”

I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug, absorbing its warmth. “There’s some reason my mother included him.”

Pierce blew on his coffee, sipped, then set the pages aside, and headed for the refrigerator. He grabbed a handful of ice cubes and plunked them in our mugs.

“You in a hurry to end this coffee klatch?”

“Damn straight.” He tapped the papers. I’m not seeing anything new here, but these equations are complex. Know any molecular botanists?”

I drained half a mug of cooled-down coffee while I rummaged through my memory. “Nope. Not a single one of my former clients were botanists, much less molecular ones. Looks like I have some studying to do.”

He thumbed through the pages of equations, placing them facedown on the table, stopped at the last one. “You see this?”

I set my mug aside, took the sheet of paper, and read. “Variegation in gene expression is related to transposable elements or jumping genes. The variegation can be controlled with timing. Jumping genes are inactive in dividing cells, but highly active in later development.” I peered at him over the edge of the paper. “What do you suppose that means?”

“Sounds like the plants have to be older than seedlings before they’re active, but I’m not a geneticist.” He downed the rest of his coffee, carried our mugs to the kitchen, and rinsed them.

I stood, stretched, and headed for the sun porch by way of the bathroom. I wanted to tidy up before we took our nap, and maybe grab an extra condom.

But Pierce had other ideas. He joined me in the shower, held me, cherished me. The water was warm, but I couldn’t stop shivering, not with his hands skimming my body, his lips finding every erogenous zone on my sensitized skin.

I trailed my hand over his chest, wet, and slippery with the soap I’d lathered on my body. His belly tightened at my touch. “You’re mine. I need you, Belisama, fast and hard.”

“I really love you,” I whispered fiercely, and wrapped my legs around his waist. The violent thud of his heart against my chest, matched mine, beat for beat. Pierce was right. Hard. Fast. We craved the loving, wild, violence that burned in our souls.

He pressed my back against the shower wall. “Love. You.” His hands raced roughly over my shoulders, and arms while he claimed my mouth with the intensity of a warrior starving for love. Affection.

I said it again, “I. Love. You.” And I punctuated each word with love bites I couldn’t control, not when he’d found my core. It was a living thing, swirling, twisting, demanding every part of me. I gave. And demanded in return. The power and depth of what we shared spread through us in shock waves of sweetness that lasted until the water ran cold.

Pierce shut the water off, and then slid me down the front of him, both of us reluctant to separate.

He kissed me, tender and gentle, the exact opposite of the intensity that still left us breathless, and we stood there in deep, silent communication until his phone buzzed.

“Damn thing,” he whispered in my ear before he stepped out of the shower, answered it, and started dragging his clothes on over damp skin.

I grabbed a towel, and knocked the sealed condom package onto the floor. “Oh, shit. No protection.”

Pierce ended the phone call with a single word, scooped the condom off the floor, and waited, eyebrows hiked.

Frantic, I counted days in my head, once, twice, then breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re good. Timing is off.”