Erica Lucke Dean - To Katie with Love (19 page)

His eyebrows furrowed. “My file cabinet. But I can’t for the life of me come up with a single reason why it was on the island. Or how it got there.”

Inside, my heart was thumping and my blood had gone cold. On the outside, I hoped my face didn’t betray my thoughts.

AN IMPASSE

I
closed my eyes as I soaked neck deep in the steaming tub. I didn’t know how much longer I could play such a dangerous game. I loved him. I felt it more strongly every minute. But could I ignore my fears and trust him, or would I destroy everything with suspicion and doubt?

I wasn’t sure anymore. What if I threatened to leave him if he didn’t give me the answers I needed? Would he call my bluff? What if he told me he was a lawyer or a doctor? Would I even believe him? And what if he
was
a lawyer or doctor, and I blew the whole relationship with my doubts and insecurities? What if he was a mob lawyer or a mob doctor?

What
would
I accept as his profession? I supposed it didn’t really matter as long as it wasn’t something illegal. Or dangerous. And even then… would I leave him for having a risky job? I didn’t think I could. I was reaching a place where it ceased to matter what he did; I just had to know.

I stepped out of the warmth of the bath and wrapped myself in a heated towel. I was determined to get my answers tonight. I prepared my weapons and started down the stairs.

He was still in the kitchen working on something at the stove with his back to me, oblivious to the fact that I was poised to attack. I clutched the still warm towel to my body and soundlessly crept up behind him. As soon as I was close enough to whisper and still be heard, I cleared my throat.

He startled slightly and turned to face me. “Look at you,” he said in a low voice, eyes wide.

“Brave,” I murmured.

“Brave?” He smiled, but I could see the hint of confusion.

“Definitely. I would have to be brave to dare to come down here without underwear again.”

A slow grin tipped his lips up on one side, and he pushed his hand into his hair. I could tell he had been doing that a lot. His hair was pretty messed up.

“How brave are you?”

“Pretty brave.” I pulled out my first weapon—my sexy voice—and looked up at him from under my lashes.

He took a step toward me. “I thought you were hungry.”

“Famished.”

“Taste?” He smiled and then turned to retrieve a sample from his pan.

I nodded and let him feed me from the fork. It was fabulous. Cooper was definitely an excellent cook.

My reaction must have told him I liked it. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“You know it’s good,” I whispered, still using the sexy voice.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“It’s better than good. It’s amazingly good.”

Cooper took a bite of the filet and closed his eyes. “I am a fabulous chef.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was true, but funny. “Kiss me.” I reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and towed him toward me.

He didn’t hesitate. He swept me into a heated kiss, wrapping his arms around me.

“Cooper,” I whispered against his lips. “Please tell me. I have to know.”

He ran his tongue over my top lip. “Hmm?”

“How does your breath always taste like peppermint? Even after eating.”

He didn’t stop kissing me but shook with quiet laughter.

“Please tell me,” I said.

“It’s a secret.”

Our lips moved together softly, but every now and then, he stopped to nip with his teeth.

“So many secrets.” I slid my hand under his shirt, running my fingers low over his stomach.

He shook his head lightly, his lips still working with mine. “Just a few,” he murmured between kisses. He took my roaming hand in his. “Time for food,” Cooper said firmly.

“Time to share just one secret,” I demanded with a pout.

“That’s fair. But let’s eat first.”

Finally sated—at least my stomach—I was full and ready for sleep. Well…
bed
. I was getting used to the lack of sleep. We headed toward the stairs.

“Time for my secret,” I coaxed.

“Why do you like it so much when I say your name?”

“Huh?” I muttered, somewhat confused by his strange change of subject.

“You’ve been keeping that a secret. You said you were going to share one secret. That’s what I want to know.” He flashed a devious smile.

“No, that’s not what I meant.
You
are supposed to be telling
me
a secret.”

“You never specified who would be sharing a secret. I pick you.”

“Ugh! This is so
not
fair. I’ve been patient. I’ve told you everything about me…” Uh… other than my sneaky alter-ego, but he didn’t need to know about her. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me what you do for a living. How can that be so damn hard?” I turned without saying another word and stamped my feet all the way up the stairs, dropping the towel along the way. I scurried down the hall into his room and climbed under the magnificent sheets. I heard his uneven breathing as he followed me, and I buried my head under the covers.

“Katie?” he called as he stepped through the threshold of the bedroom. “Hey, come on. Don’t hide. Talk to me.” He sounded so miserable and lost. “Katie, please.”

“What?” I grumbled from under the blankets.

“I thought we were playing. Why did you run from me?” He climbed onto the bed and crawled toward me.

“You won’t play fair.”

He suspended his short trek across the mattress and hesitated for a minute. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because this is basic first date stuff. You know what I do. You know I have an imaginary cat. You know about my mother, my father, my sister, and every job I’ve ever had, with maybe the exception of the summer I waited tables, and now you know that. You know about the time I shoplifted the candy bar when I was five, too. Don’t make me seem unreasonable for wanting to know what kind of work you do after multiple dates and sleeping in your bed. And it’s rotten that you’d make me think you’re going to tell me, then turn it into a joke at my expense.”

He put a hand on my leg. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have teased you like that. Isn’t it enough to know the depth of my feelings? You have to realize I want nothing more than to share myself with you completely, but there are some things I can’t share, not yet. I’m asking you to trust me for a little while longer. I need time. I only hope you can wait, that what you already know about me is enough to keep you from walking away. Because what we have means so much to me.”

I groaned. I wanted to be angry. I really did. And I tried to hold on to that as long as I could. But his words and the sadness in his voice shattered my angry mood into a million tiny pieces. I pulled the blankets back and sat up to face him. “Do you think so little of me? How could you even imagine I would walk away? I
love
you because of everything I already know about you. The things I don’t know—the secrets—are what make me afraid. My imagination is a frightening thing.”

He laughed. “What could you have possibly created in your head that would make you afraid?”

I frowned. “You don’t want to know.”

“I think I might,” he said in a serious tone.

I covered my face with my hands and peeked through my fingers at him. “I’m sure you won’t like it.”

“Then I definitely want to know.”

I pursed my lips and took in a deep breath. I knew I should just tell him what I was thinking and get it over with, but it was horrible and went against his request that I trust him. It said that I’d never fully trusted him. I only hoped he would be distracted by the fact that I was completely naked.

“Well?” He wasn’t distracted. He was impatient. I understood that emotion.

“Okay, okay.” I pulled myself up until I was sitting with my back against the headboard and tugged a pillow across the front of me like a shield. He raised his eyebrows—waiting—so I took another deep gulp of air and launched into it.

“It started the day you went to New York. No, wait. It was the Thursday before that. You remember… the day I turned the ringer off on my phone? I didn’t talk to you all day.”

“Last Thursday?”

Had it only been a week? Amazing. “Yes. Last Thursday.”

“Go ahead.”

“So everyone was watching this bulletin on the news about the judge who got killed downtown.” I waited for him to nod. “Vicky was asking me about you and why you didn’t come into the bank.” I was reluctant to tell him how much Vicky had been wondering about him, and I was afraid to tell him she had been snooping in his accounts.

“I should have suspected Vicky would be involved in this somehow.” He shook his head. “I never come in on Thursdays. Until we started dating, I didn’t come in on Mondays or Wednesdays, for that matter. That shouldn’t have been anything unusual to gossip about.”

“If you’re going to insist I tell the story, you’ll at least need to let me finish.”

“Certainly. Continue.” He shifted until he, too, was leaning against the headboard, a pillow of his own tucked in front of him like a shield.

“Okay.” I tried to remember where I was when he interrupted. “So Vicky was asking me where you were, and Phil and Silvia were talking about the murder and how much it would cost to kill a judge. They were totally caught up in figuring out how much someone would pay. I thought it was pretty morbid, but then I saw the wire transfer into your account, and it was a lot of money.” I hesitated, waiting for him to catch up.

He didn’t. “Okay. And?”

“Then on Monday, while you were in New York, there was a murder. I kept telling myself you were too busy texting me to find the time to shoot someone—”

He jolted. “Shoot someone?”

I glared at him. “You’re interrupting again.”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“Vicky said something about how it was a crazy coincidence how everywhere you went, people dropped dead. And when you came back from New York, you had that dark stain on your shirt that looked an awful lot like blood.” I stared down at the pillow, picking a piece of down from the cover, trying desperately to imagine the look on his face but too terrified to see it for myself.

“And?”

“And every time I’ve asked you what you do for a living, you try to distract me.” I peeked up at him from under my lashes.

His eyebrows pulled together creating a deep crease, and he pushed both hands into his already messed up hair. “So let me get this straight. You, or maybe Vicky—I haven’t decided which of you—was the mastermind in this clusterfuck, but one of you came to the brilliant conclusion that I’ve been running around killing people?”

I shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Well, that’s bloody brilliant!”

It was the first time I’d noticed even a hint of a British accent in his deep silken voice. It was sort of sexy. “I’ll admit it was a bit of a stretch.”

“A bit?”

“Understatement?”

“Immeasurably so.”

“You have to admit there certainly seemed to be too much
evidence
to ignore.”

He gave me a look filled with utter incredulity. “Circumstantial at best. For Chrissakes, Katie. Is there more?”

“No.”

He sat quietly, staring at me. I felt his frustration piercing me like sharp fangs on my tender throat. I wondered what he was searching for in my eyes, whether he was aware I couldn’t force myself to look away.

Finally, he nodded. “I’m not angry. I’m somewhat amazed at how easily your imagination runs wild. Have you ever considered writing some of these things down?”

“I told you.”

“True. You did tell me. But still. I think I have a pretty good imagination, and I doubt even
I
could have come up with that.”

I flushed. He was right. There was no
logical
basis for any of my suspicions. “You’re really not angry with me?”

“Really and truly.” He snaked his arm around my waist and tugged me roughly into his lap. “Then again, if I say yes, will you work hard to make it up to me?”

I stared up at him from my position lying across his lap. “How hard?”

“Extremely hard.” He flashed me the lopsided grin. “Amazingly hard.”

“Amazing? Good description. I think I can handle that.”

“Better than
handle,
I’d say. You’re something of an expert if I’m any judge.”

“Do we need a second opinion?”

His face went stony for a brief moment. “Absolutely not. My opinion is all that matters on that subject.”

I grinned at his attempt at jealousy. “You’re all that matters to me.”

“Good.” He dipped his face down to kiss me.

“That
is
good. I might need a second opinion, though. Kiss me again.”

He kissed me again, more fervently, and I felt myself melting into him.

“I’m not wearing any clothes,” I murmured between breathless kisses.

He smiled against my lips. “I know.”

I was no longer capable of rational thought as his hands slipped beneath the blankets. The last thing I remembered thinking was how he’d never actually denied being an assassin.