Game for Anything (10 page)

“Will do.”

Slipping his cell phone back into his pocket, Tracker headed toward her. He wasn't going to let Sophie talk to Ramsey unless he was right there at her side.

 

A
BREAK-IN
. Sophie was still trying to get her mind around it when Tracker pulled the car into the garage in the alley behind her shop. As far as she knew there hadn't been a break-in anywhere on Prospect Street since she'd been in business. The alarm system had been installed and updated by Wainwright Enterprises'
security people. She glanced at Tracker as they left the garage and headed toward the courtyard. His expression was serious, but he was holding her hand. That one simple gesture had helped to steady the nerves that had been building ever since she'd learned the news.

She stopped short the minute she saw the man and woman standing in the open doorway of her shop. The man was older, with gray hair at his temples, and he wore slightly rumpled khaki slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. The woman had red hair in a French braid, and Sophie guessed that her crisp linen suit had been purchased at one of the best boutiques in Georgetown.

“Which one of you is Detective Ramsey?” Sophie asked.

“I am,” the man said. “This is my partner, Natalie Gibbs.”

“I understand that my shop has been broken into.”

Detective Ramsey pulled a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket. “Not exactly.”

“My security team specifically quoted you as saying ‘break-in,'” Tracker said.

“And your relationship to Ms. Wainwright is?”

“I head up security for Wainwright Enterprises and I'm looking after Ms. Wainwright while her brother is out of town. Could you tell us what's going on?”

“Yeah.” Ramsey sighed. “We wanted to locate Ms. Wainwright fast, so we gave your security team the abridged version. The unabridged one is more complicated.” He shifted his gaze to Sophie. “Someone got into your shop tonight, Ms. Wainwright. They were clever enough to bypass the alarm without setting
it off. A woman who works at the ice-cream shop on the corner called in a possible break-in at eight-thirty. She said she saw a light—something like a flashlight or a candle—on the second floor. When the patrol officer arrived about ten minutes later to check it out, he found the back door wide-open.”

Sophie started toward the door. “I'll need to see what's been taken.”

Natalie Gibbs moved quickly to cut her off.

“It's my shop. I have a right to go in there.”

“In just a minute, Ms. Wainwright,” Detective Ramsey said. “First, I need to know where you were this evening from seven until nine.”

Sophie felt dread shiver through her. She glanced at Tracker and saw that his eyes were on Ramsey's. She shifted her gaze to the detective. “I was attending a party at the home of Millie Langford-Hughes. I left shortly after I received a phone call from Wainwright Enterprises' security people. That was about twenty minutes ago.”

“I can confirm that, Ramsey. So can Millie Langford-Hughes and any number of guests at her party. Ms. Wainwright wasn't out of my sight for more than five minutes,” Tracker said.

“Can I go into my shop now?” Sophie asked.

Three people walked out of the back door just as she spoke. One of them carried a camera; another carried what looked like a large briefcase. The third man spoke to Detective Ramsey. “We're through. The coroner's office should be here in a few minutes to take the body.”

“Body?” Sophie could hear the fear in her own
voice as she whirled on Ramsey. “Who? Is it Noah?” She didn't even know that she'd grabbed Tracker's hand until she felt his fingers close around hers.

“We don't know who it is, Ms. Wainwright. There was no identification on the body. Who is Noah?”

She tightened her grip on Tracker's hand. “My assistant. He's a graduate student at Georgetown, and he's been working part-time for me since I opened the shop. He has the code to get through the security system.”

“The victim is a man. We were hoping you might help us with an identification,” Ramsey said.

“Yes.” Sophie couldn't feel her knees. All she could think of was Noah lying in her shop, dead. “Okay.”

“I can do it, Sophie. You stay here with Detective Gibbs,” Tracker said.

She shook her head. “I can do it.”

She knew it was going to be hard. But as she walked up the stairs after the two detectives, she realized that she wouldn't have made it without Tracker's hand at her back giving her support. Even then she felt as if she were walking in slow motion. Detective Gibbs led them into the first room to the left.

Sophie thought she'd steeled herself, but when she saw the lifeless form on the floor, she knew that there was no way to prepare for it. Details made their way into her mind like so many images flashing on an empty screen: the body, facedown on the floor, one hand flung up, the other at his side…the contrast of fair hair and reddish-brown blood. She knew before
Detective Ramsey turned the body over that it wasn't Noah. But her relief was short-lived.

The man lying on the floor of her shop was John Landry.

A
T ELEVEN O'CLOCK
, the detectives' room at the police station was swinging into high gear. Tracker viewed the scene through the glass wall of a conference room. Perps were being interviewed, paperwork processed. Across the sea of desks and detectives, he could see Sophie in a similar room, talking to Detective Gibbs.

Presently, Ramsey was letting him cool his heels while he made a few phone calls. Tracker had used his cell phone to make one himself—to Chance, but he'd had to leave a message. Had whoever killed Landry gotten the coin? That was the question of the day. None of the pieces that had arrived in the day's shipment had been stolen. He'd checked that out himself.

When Ramsey had invited them down to the station, Tracker had agreed because it gave him some breathing time. He had to plan what he was going to do when Sophie figured out the real reason he was in her apartment and in her bed.

Even now, Gibbs could be asking her questions that might start her thinking, wondering. The Princess had a mind like a steel trap. And a temper like fire. Once she figured it out, he wasn't sure what she'd do, except that she'd never want to see him again.

Fear rolled into an icy ball in his stomach. From the
moment he'd seen Landry lying on the floor in her shop, Tracker hadn't been able to rid his mind of the image of Sophie lying there. It could have been her. He ran a hand through his hair as if that gesture would erase the picture from his mind. If Sophie pushed him away now, he wouldn't be able to protect her. He wouldn't be able to touch her, hold her—

Damn. He wanted to kick something—himself, for starters. He was allowing his emotions to block what he should be thinking of—some kind of strategy that he could use to keep her safe.

Ruthlessly, Tracker shoved his feelings down. Sophie had a way of scrambling his brain. He was so emotionally involved that he'd even considered the option of stepping back and assigning some of his men to protect her. But Chance had warned against doing anything that would arouse suspicion. And Tracker had already established his cover as her lover. Sticking to the present scenario was the safest option for now.

He just had to keep his head clear and focus on the facts. John Landry was dead, shot through the back of the head in one of the upstairs display rooms in Sophie's shop. There'd been no sign of a struggle. The hit had been clean, professional looking. And Landry had gained access by shutting down the security system. Tracker had checked that much out before he'd left the shop.

He glanced up when Ramsey entered the room.

“I've done some checking on you, Mr. McBride.” Ramsey placed a manila file down on the table between them. “I ran this last year when we thought Dr.
MacKenzie Lloyd was missing. Would you care to look at it?”

Tracker glanced at the folder and then back at Ramsey. “Why don't you just fill me in?”

“I know that you and Lucas Wainwright worked on covert operations in some pretty rugged places and that your service files are classified. I also know that Mr. Wainwright trusts you with the lives of his wife and his sister. I'm aware that Landry had been dating Ms. Wainwright pretty steadily for the past two weeks, but that she went with you to that party tonight. According to Ms. Wainwright, you spent last night with her in her apartment and you were with her the whole day in the shop.”

Pausing, Ramsey folded his hands on the desk. “What it looks like to me is that something must have happened to make Ms. Wainwright give Landry the boot and replace him with Wainwright Enterprises' head of security on a twenty-four–seven basis. I'd like you to share with me anything you know about John Landry's death.”

Tracker met Ramsey's gaze steadily. “I don't know anything about it.”

Ramsey smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Let me rephrase that. What do you suspect? And if that question doesn't suit, you can always start with what you're protecting Ms. Wainwright from.”

Tracker studied the man for a minute. Both Lucas and Mac had spoken highly of him. Rumpled shirt aside, the detective had intelligent eyes, and he'd done a heck of a background check to have dug up what he'd been able to about Lucas and his military back
ground. How much would satisfy him? That was the question. After a moment, Tracker decided that he'd give him as much as he could. Having Ramsey on his side might pay off down the road a bit.

“There are some things I have to hold back because they involve agents working undercover. What I can tell you is that Sophie's shop is under surveillance by a couple of agencies and an insurance company or two because it's been pinpointed as one of a few stores being used by a very well connected smuggler to get some stolen coins into this country. Three of them were dug up in Turkey, and they were in England when they were stolen. Sophie is not suspected of being involved, but she could be in danger.”

“That's where you come in,” Ramsey said. He'd begun to tap a pencil on the desk.

“She knows nothing about the smuggling.”

The tapping stopped. “Who filled you in?”

“One of the agents I can't name. He says that they're very close to closing in on the head of the ring. It's imperative that everything run smoothly, business as usual at Sophie's shop. An owner of a similar shop in Connecticut was found burned to death in his store two months ago. Six weeks ago, a woman who purchased something in Sophie's shop was killed by a hit-and-run driver.”

Ramsey leaned back in his chair. “Gibbs and I are working on that case. You're saying it's connected?”

“I was told she was on her way to meet the headman. Hard to believe it was a coincidence.”

“Was Landry one of the agents you're talking about?”

“Good question.” The detective was smart, and Tracker was annoyed that he hadn't yet considered that possibility himself. “The other possibility is that he was part of the smuggling operation. Landry comes from a lot of money, the landed gentry kind, and a few years ago he began dabbling in the antique business for fun. He hunts down special pieces for high-paying clients.”

“It would make a good cover whichever side of the law he was working on,” Ramsey commented. “And you say Ms. Wainwright knows nothing about what you've learned?”

“No. I thought it would be safer for her that way. She's very sensitive…about being protected.”

“I see,” Ramsey said, studying Tracker thoughtfully. “How long before you can close in on the smuggler?”

“A shipment arrived today that was supposed to contain the coin. We're waiting for someone to make a move.”

“Seems to me someone did. Was it taken tonight?”

“None of the pieces that arrived today were stolen. I should know more soon.”

After a moment, Ramsey said, “So Ms. Wainwright doesn't know you're guarding her. You're playing a very dangerous game, don't you think?”

“Yeah. But for the moment, it's the best chance I've got of keeping her safe. I'd like to continue playing it.”

Ramsey nodded. “Okay. She won't hear anything about the smuggling business from me right at this moment. But my job is to solve two homicides.”

Tracker nodded. “I'll give you whatever I can once we nail this bastard.”

Ramsey handed him a card. “I was thinking more in terms of cooperation. Let me know what I can do to help.”

Tracker's eyes narrowed as he glanced across the room to where Sophie was being questioned. “How good a cop is Detective Gibbs?”

“As good as they get. She's been my partner for two years.”

He shifted his gaze back to Ramsey. “If Ms. Wainwright decides that she no longer requires my services twenty-four–seven, I may have a job for her.”

 

I
T WAS ANOTHER
half an hour before Detective Gibbs finished interviewing Sophie. Tracker paced by the elevator, feeling for all the world as if he were awaiting judgment and sentencing. Oh, he could tell himself that he'd had no business sleeping with Sophie, but he'd never regret it. What he would regret was never doing it again, never being able to touch her, to hold her.

“Tracker.”

He turned slowly at the sound of her voice. She was walking toward him, and the moment he looked into her eyes, he knew he had a reprieve. She wasn't going to tell him to get lost yet.

“Will you hold me?”

He'd already opened his arms, and when she walked into them, he closed them tightly around her. The iciness of the fear that had gripped him from the moment he'd seen Landry's body began to melt, replaced by a
flood of emotions he couldn't even begin to name. All he knew for sure was that holding her like this was something he wanted to go on doing for a very long time.

“I'm sorry.” She tightened her grip on him. “I just can't help it. A few hours ago I talked to him at the party. He kissed me goodbye because he was going back to London tomorrow. And now he's…”

Tracker ran a hand over her hair. “I'm sorry you had to see him.”

“I hate that I'm doing this,” Sophie murmured, but she didn't lift her cheek from his chest.

“Doing what?” Tracker asked.

“Being weak and clinging.”

“You have a right.”

“But it never solves anything. It's just that…”

“What?”

“I needed this. Even when you'd dug up all that stuff on Bradley the jerk and I absolutely hated you for it, I felt better when you held me in your arms.”

A flood of feelings moved through him, along with the realization that he'd felt better, too. And he knew why. What he'd felt that day and what he was feeling right now was that he'd come home. Not that he'd ever had a real one, but this was what he'd always imagined it would feel like—the warmth, the understanding, the acceptance.

“I want to take you away from this.” The words were out before the thought had even formed fully in his mind. He felt her stiffen in his arms and draw back.

“I wish I could let you, but I have to stay. Detective Gibbs wants me to run a more detailed inventory and
make sure that nothing was taken. And she said they might need to see me again.”

Tracker frowned. “You're not a suspect. They can't force you to stay around.”

Sophie shook her head. “No, but I want to do everything I can to help them find out who did this to John. He was a nice man, and he was killed in my shop. The weird part is he bypassed the security system. They don't suspect either Noah or me of letting him in. How did he do that?”

“Any security system can be disabled if the person has the right kind of background.” Tracker didn't add that it would take talent and the right kind of tools.

“They're going to question Noah anyway.”

“They have to. It's standard police procedure.”

Sophie drew in a deep breath. “I want you to do me a favor. I want you to help me find out who shot John.”

“Princess, Detective Ramsey is very good at his job. Lucas and Mac think the world of him.”

“He's not
you.
You head up Wainwright Enterprises' security, and you have a whole security team working for you. I figured we could go back to the shop, I'll take a quick inventory for Detective Gibbs and you could look for clues.”

“Clues.” Tracker shook his head. He could hardly tell her that he'd already checked for them. “You're sure you want to go back there tonight?”

He could feel her spine stiffen. “It's my shop. Please. I need to do this. Will you help me?”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Your wish
seems to be my command, Princess…on one condition.”

“A condition?” She raised her brows. “I don't think princesses have to accept conditions.”

He grinned and for the first time all evening felt some of his tension ease. “What if I promise that there will be penalties involved?”

She smiled up at him, the first smile he'd seen since they'd gotten the phone call. His heart gave a little lurch. “Penalties, huh?”

“Only if you accept my condition. If you want my help, you have to cooperate. Once you finish the inventory at your shop, we're going to the apartment I keep at Wainwright Enterprises. I know that you'll be safe there—and I think we both need a good night's sleep.”

“Sleep? If you want to get any sleep tonight, there are definitely going to be penalties involved.”

“Princess, I'm counting on it.”

 

“W
HAT ARE YOUR FEELINGS
about onions, garlic and cheese when it comes to an omelette?”

Sophie climbed up on a stool and faced Tracker over the counter. Chess was already at his elbow, inspecting the ingredients he'd taken out of the refrigerator. His kitchen was as small as hers, but it was state of the art. “I have very warm and fuzzy feelings for those ingredients.”

The grin came then, quick and packing its usual punch. “Well, we have at least one thing in common, Princess.”

The words warmed her. Up until a few days ago,
she never would have believed that she and Tracker had anything in common. Nor would she have believed that she would be sitting here in his kitchen feeling so relaxed. There was something very soothing in the quick, competent way he'd assembled a pan, a bowl and the utensils he needed on the counter between them. It made her recall the very efficient way he'd handled things in the powder room at the party.

Even as heat rose in her cheeks, she found her gaze fastened on his hands as he sliced, chopped and tossed ingredients into a hot skillet. All she had to do was look at those long, lean fingers and she could imagine them on her, moving over her skin, slipping inside of her.

“Earth to Sophie.”

She glanced up. “Hmm?”

“Are you game for some hot peppers?”

“Sure.” She had the feeling with Tracker she'd be game for just about anything. She could never imagine trying that black velvet ribbon scenario with anyone else. And he'd been so willing to go right along. So patient when she'd completely blown her part. And
so
skilled. She felt a streak of pleasure, just remembering what he'd done, what he'd made her feel. She'd known that he'd be intense as a lover. But she'd never thought of him as being impulsive that way or of having a fun, playful side.