Game for Anything (16 page)

He frowned. “I don't want her at the shop tomorrow.”

“I'll take care of it. Don't worry.”

Smiling, he sipped his champagne. He wouldn't worry because he, too, had a plan.

 

“G
OOD BOY
,” Sophie crooned as she patted Pluto's neck.

“He'll keep you at that all day,” Tracker warned, and just as predicted, Pluto nuzzled her shoulder. Persephone, jealous now, whinnied and pawed the ground.

Tracker sat down on the blanket he'd spread under a willow tree, and watched as Sophie moved to the mare and ran her hand over her neck. He shook his head in wonder. Sophie had not only charmed Persephone, but Pluto was also enthralled. Sophie rode well, but not recklessly. For a while, as they'd raced side by side through the fields, he's begun to believe
that they did have more in common than he'd thought.

As he watched her turn and make her way toward him, he knew that he wanted to believe it more than anything. She shouldn't have fit so well in this home that he'd carved out for himself. But somehow she did.

Flopping down on the blanket, Sophie said, “I'm starved.”

Quite suddenly he was, too, and not for food. He might have grabbed her then and used his coupon, but he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Reining in his own needs, he began to unpack the basket Jerry had given them. Chicken, Brie, small crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries. While she spread cheese on the rolls, he tipped wine into glasses, then handed her one.

She took a sip, then, tilting her head to one side, she studied him. “Since I was little, I've dreamed of having my own horse. Riding one—it's better than a tree house.”

“Why didn't you ever get one?”

She shrugged. “Between boarding schools and college, I was never at the estate long enough—and then I had the shop. But you…I never would have pictured you in a place like this. I think it's definitely time to play twenty questions again.”

He could think of other games he'd prefer to play, but she was tired, and if he played her game right, he might be able to trick her into taking a nap. “One question each.”

“That's an excellent way to start,” she said around a mouthful of chicken. “I'll begin. What's your favorite Christmas memory?”

“My what?”

She met his eyes. “I can ask you something on any
topic I like. If you pass, there's a penalty.”

His eyes narrowed. “I know the rules. I'm just trying to think.” Leaning back against the tree, he searched his memory. Christmases past. Many of them he'd spent alone, hardly bothering to note the date on the calendar. Even last year, when he'd moved in here, he'd been alone. Mac and Lucas had invited him, of course, but he'd declined because Sophie would be there.

Pushing the memory away, he dug deeper. “I'd have to say it was the Christmas I met Jerry. We were both working on a horse farm in Kentucky. He was a trainer, and I needed work.” Tracker grinned. “I was fifteen and cocky, and the job he gave me was a lot more work than I'd anticipated. He was a perfectionist, never satisfied with anything I did, and it became my goal in life to please him, just out of spite. He also found me a spot to bunk in the barn. Christmas that year, he dragged me to his place. He said that no one should be alone at Christmas, and since we both were, we'd have to put up with each other. Shortly after that, he ordered me to move in with him. It's a wonder we didn't kill each other.”

“Has he been with you ever since?” Sophie asked,

Tracker shook his head. “I went back to Kentucky to find him when I decided to take the job Lucas offered me.”

“You figured you owed him,” Sophie said.

“I didn't think of it that way. Neither did Jerry. I knew I wanted a place with horses, and I needed someone to look after them. Jerry fit the bill. It had been about ten years since I'd seen him, and he hadn't changed a bit. He's still as cantankerous as ever.”

Sophie yawned as he refilled her glass. “Your turn.”

He thought for a minute, then said, “What's your favorite Christmas memory?”

She took a sip of the champagne. “That's an easy one.”

He figured it would be. There had to be so many happy memories to choose from.

“I was five and both my parents were away. It was shortly after they'd divorced, and Lucas had decided to stay at school. It was the night before Christmas, and I was at the Wainwright estate with a nanny and the servants, and I heard Santa's reindeer land on the roof.”

“You thought you heard them?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I really heard them. Knowing that they were real and that at least Santa hadn't forgotten me was the best Christmas present I got that year.”

Tracker took a sip of his own champagne as he tried to picture Sophie as a five-year-old, alone for the holiday except for imaginary reindeer. Maybe they did have as much in common as she thought. The possibility sent a little flash of panic skipping through him.

“My turn again,” she said.

“Oh no. We agreed one each.”

Her eyes widened. “You said one each. I don't recall agreeing. Besides, answering that first question wasn't so painful, was it? And if we keep playing twenty questions, I won't spend the time worrying about what's going to go on at my shop tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can see why you're such a success at business. You're a very sneaky negotiator.”

She smiled at him. “Count on it. Now, tell me about your first sexual experience.”

He swallowed wine fast before he choked on it. “No way.”

“Chicken.”

“You can't expect me to remember—”

“Everyone remembers the first time. Was it that horrible? Weren't you successful?”

“Of course not. I mean, of course I was.” Then he narrowed his eyes. She was baiting him on purpose so that he would tell her.

She held out a hand, palm up. “If you tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine.”

“Bait and trap,” he said, shaking his head.

“Whatever works.”

There was more than one way to play this game. Setting his glass of champagne on level ground, he stretched out on the blanket beside her. “Marylee Jazinski.”

“See, you do remember.”

“Every detail.”

“Was she pretty?”

Tracker tried to summon up an image, but it was blurred. “She was a blonde. I vaguely remember hair the color of wheat bleached by the sun.” Reaching out, he twisted a strand of Sophie's hair around his finger. “Since I was about sixteen at the time, I was drawn to her other, fairly amazing, attributes.”

“I'm sure.”

“She was an older woman and very experienced.”

“Really?”

The dry tone nearly had him smiling. “She hired me to give her riding lessons, and she confessed to me
she'd wanted me the first time she'd seen me.”

“That old line.”

He tucked the strand of hair behind Sophie's ear and gave in to the temptation to run his finger down her throat. Her pulse began to speed. “Worked for me.”

“If she was older, it probably happened in a bed, then?” Sophie asked.

Tracker cleared his throat. “Eventually.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do I have to beat the details out of you?”

“Do you really want them? I think I'm detecting a note of jealousy in your tone.” And not just jealousy, he thought, but excitement, too.

“Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be jealous of an older woman who took advantage of you?”

He pressed a finger against her lips and held it there. “That wasn't the way it was. She initiated me into the art of lovemaking.”

When Sophie rolled her eyes, he nearly laughed. Her dry sense of humor was a constant delight to him. Very slowly he drew his finger down her lips to her chin. “All I knew up to then I'd read in books.”

“You were sixteen and you'd already read books?”

“Quite a few. What they tell you about teenage boys and hormones is absolutely true. I'd seen some movies, too. But it wasn't like the real thing.” Keeping his eyes steady on hers, he settled his hand at her throat and leaned closer until his lips were close to her ear. “Would you like me to tell you exactly what she asked me to do to her, Sophie? Would that excite you?”

The pulse at the base of her throat raced against his fingers.

“Yes, I can see that it would. Would you like me to show you what she asked me to do to her that day?”

Raising his head, he saw that her eyes had deepened to that darker color that always aroused him.

She placed her hand on the side of his face. “I want you to kiss me.”

“I can't. Marylee would never let me kiss her on the mouth until I had undressed her.” He was almost sure that was a lie, just as most of what he was saying was a lie, but he knew that if he kissed Sophie now, his control would begin to slip as it always did. The temptation just to lose himself in her was so great. But the game that he'd begun was arousing them both. He wanted to see where it would lead and where he could take her. Grasping her hand, he placed it on the blanket.

“She would always lie very still and just tell me what to do. First I would take off her shirt and bra.” Slowly, taking his time, he eased Sophie out of both. “She always wanted me to touch her breasts. Sometimes she'd tell me to do this.” He began to circle one slowly with his finger, over and over until the tip of it grew hard and her hips began to move. Then he caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed.

When Sophie moaned and her hips arched upward, he began the process again on the other breast. “She loved to have me play with her breasts, but I was always impatient to see her naked.” He dragged one finger slowly down Sophie's stomach and then along the skin just beneath the edge of her jeans.

When she began to tremble, he lingered, brushing his hands over her again and again, determined to test them both. Her voice was strained when she finally said, “Tracker, please.”

“Please what?”

“Undress me the rest of the way. I want you inside of me. Hurry.”

He leaned down then to blow on the skin that he'd sensitized with his fingers, and she arched her hips upward. Then slowly he unsnapped her jeans and drew the zipper down, letting his finger rest right where the zipper ended.

“Hurry,” she said. “I want you.”

“But you wanted to know what my first time was like, Sophie. It's your game, your rules.”

Inch by inch he dragged her jeans down the length of her legs, trailing his fingers after them, stopping to trace patterns on her inner thighs, the backs of her knees. “I love your legs, so strong, so smooth.”

The moment he spoke the words, her muscles went lax. It surprised him how much he loved seeing her this way, limp and totally his. Even as the punch of power moved through him, his mind remained focused totally on Sophie and what he could do for her. How much more pleasure could he give her? How much further could he drive them both?

He brushed his fingers over the arch of her foot and then up her calf. “Do you like that, Sophie?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it sent ribbons of heat curling along his skin.

“And here?” Keeping his touch featherlight, he moved his hand up the inner side of her thigh. “Do you like this?”

“Mmmm.” She arched toward his hand once, then again. Spreading her thighs, he knelt between them and ran one finger down the satiny panties that formed the only barrier between his finger and her center. She was already wet for him and hot. “And this?”

“Tracker, I—please.”

“Please what? This?” He drew his finger down her again, and again, increasing the pressure just a little each time. When the first climax tore through her, he very nearly climaxed, too.

Then, lying down beside her, he gathered her close and just held her until the shuddering stopped. He needed to take a moment for her, and just as much for himself. If he entered her now, he'd be rough again, and he wanted desperately to be gentle.

She lifted her head and said, “Come inside me now. Please. I need you.”

Whatever resolve he'd managed to gather scattered away, and his own need rushed in to fill its place. He fumbled with his clothes, and when he was finally free of them, he shifted to his back and she straddled him. Gripping her hips, he held her still for one moment, allowing her to fill his vision, his world. Then, lifting her, he plunged into her and watched pleasure cloud her eyes.

The moment she began to move, his vision began to blur.
Not yet.
He gripped her hips again.

“
Let
me.” She struggled, but he held her in place. “I want…”

With one hand, he touched the spot where her body joined his.

Crying out, she arched her back as another climax rushed through her. He'd never seen anything more
beautiful, more arousing. When she collapsed on top of him, he held her tight. And he knew that he could have gone on holding her for a long while.

But she began to rock her hips against him as she captured his mouth, breathing his name. “Tracker, I want you to come for me now.”

Rolling her beneath him, he thrust once, then again, and poured himself into her.

N
ATALIE
G
IBBS TOOK OUT
a handkerchief and wiped at the seat of the booth before she sat down. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have deplorable taste in restaurants?”

“This isn't a date,” Chance said. If it were, he might have tried to figure out why the woman sitting across from him rubbed him the wrong way.

“Thank heavens for that. You're not my type.”

He was going to stick to business. They were going to share what they'd found out and coordinate their plan for tomorrow, and then drive out to Tracker's place and fill him in. But Chance found himself saying, “You could have fooled me. Ramsey told me you were the blond boy who hit on me that day in the shop. That was a hell of a risk to take. What would you have done if I'd taken you up on it?”

She smiled at him. “Not much of a risk when you think about it. If you were straight, you wouldn't have been interested. If you were gay, you would have ended up disappointed.” Her smile faded. “I was checking out who worked in the gallery. It was the last place Jayne Childress stopped before she was killed. The first minute I looked at you I didn't think you were gay.”

His frown deepened. He didn't like it one bit that she'd seen through him. “Why not?”

Head tilted, she studied him for a minute. “A feeling. I felt it the first time I walked into the gallery and our eyes met.”

It occurred to him that he knew exactly what she was talking about because he was feeling it right now—a little shock of recognition that registered like a quick punch in the gut.

“What'll you have, sugar?”

Glancing up, Chance saw that the waitress was talking to Natalie.

“Long time no see, Mae. Can you hazard a guess as to how long ago that pot of coffee was made?” Natalie asked.

Chance noted that the waitress was not wearing a name tag. The woman, who was short, stocky and in her early fifties, glanced to the counter at the coffeemaker, then leaned closer to Natalie. “I think the Beatles were still making records.”

Natalie laughed. The full, bright sound had Chance experiencing that low punch in the gut again.

“Thanks, Mae. I'll take a diet soda with a twist of lemon, if you have it.”

“Make that two.” As soon as Mae ambled out of earshot, he said, “You've been in here before.”

Her brows shot up. “That's how I know you have deplorable taste in restaurants. When I was a beat officer, my partner loved this place. I learned the hard way to avoid anything that doesn't come right out of a bottle or a can.”

Chance found himself wondering how she would
look in a uniform. Squashing the image, he pulled out his notebook. When he glanced up, he saw that Natalie had taken hers out of her purse and was uncapping an expensive-looking monogrammed pen. “Shall we get down to business?” she asked.

“Right. Bad news. I just learned that the artist who created the ceramic vase and horse and the owner of the shop that exported them to One of a Kind are both dead.”

Natalie stared at him. “Have you let Tracker and Sophie know?”

“I'll fill them in when we get there. It's the kind of news I'd rather deliver in person.” For the first time, Chance realized that he'd waited because he'd wanted to talk to Natalie first, to get her input.

Tapping her pen on the notebook, she frowned. “I don't like it. Whoever we're dealing with takes no prisoners.” She met his eyes. “I want to get him.”

“Did you find out anything more about the shooter?”

Natalie smiled. “I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. His attorney called and wants to meet first thing in the morning. I'm betting we'll have a name by the time Sophie opens her shop.”

Mae arrived with their drinks, and as soon as she left, Natalie said, “I also paid a visit to Noah Danforth. He had the shades down in his apartment and was pleading a migraine. I think someone put the fear of God into him. What's your take on Meryl?”

“She's clean as far as I can see. Why?”

Natalie tapped her pen thoughtfully. “The proximity of the shop to Sophie's is interesting. It's provided
the perfect place for you to spy on Sophie. It would be useful for anyone who was waiting to pick up those coins.”

“But she's seldom around. She only dabbles in running a business.”

Natalie slid out of the booth. “We'd better hit the road. I'll drive. I've seen your car.”

 

“G
OOD WORK
,” he murmured into the phone. “Excellent. I'll have to give you a bonus for this.”

As the voice on the other end of the line continued, outlining the details, he had to admit it seemed foolproof. It really was so easy to trace calls made on cell phones nowadays. And he could rest assured that Sophie Wainwright would not appear at her shop tomorrow.

He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. The Puppet Master would be able to supervise the last part of the game himself.

After slipping into his jacket, he plucked a rose out of a vase, broke off the stem and slipped it into the buttonhole of his lapel.

Then he would have to be very careful to clear the chessboard. He hadn't gotten to where he was by leaving any loose ends.

 

T
HROUGH THE GLASS DOORS
that opened onto a balcony, Sophie could see that the sky was graying, the day slipping away. Just as Tracker was slipping away.

No.
She pressed a hand against the small bubble of fear that had formed in her stomach when she'd awakened in his bed and found him gone. It was ridiculous
to feel abandoned. There were phone calls he had to answer, arrangements he had to make for tomorrow.

She was being paranoid, but she couldn't rid herself of the fear that he was withdrawing from her again and that the afternoon they'd just shared had been some kind of going-away gift to her. When they'd come back from their ride, he'd taken her to bed, and his lovemaking had been so different, so sweet and unhurried. He'd made her feel fragile, treasured, loved.

Loved.
She hugged the word to her for a moment. Then she glanced at the empty bed and the rumpled sheets. And now he was gone.

When she heard the phone ring, she thought it might be Tracker checking on her. But after picking up the extension on the bedside table, she figured out it was her cell and dug it out of her purse. “Hello?”

“Sophie, are you all right?” Mac demanded immediately. “Lucas just finished talking to Tracker. We heard the news about John Landry when we came into Key West for dinner.”

“I'm fine,” Sophie said as she sank onto the edge of the bed and tried to gather her thoughts.

“Lucas told me that Tracker is handling everything, but I just had to hear your voice.”

And it sounded strained, even to her own ears. Focusing, Sophie tried for an annoyed tone. “Thanks to Tracker, I can't go into my shop without tripping over Wainwright security men.”

“Good,” Mac said. “You can depend on him to take care of you. But I told Lucas we should cut our trip short.”

“Absolutely not. There's nothing that you could do.”

Mac sighed. “Well, I could make sure that you're not alone. You could stay with us at the town house. I keep thinking of you all alone in that apartment.”

Sophie glanced around the room. “I'm not there. I'm at Tracker's country place.”

There was a beat of silence before Mac said, “
Well.
Lucas and I have never been invited to his country place. Things must be going pretty well between the two of you.”

It hadn't occurred to Sophie until that moment how much she'd really missed having Mac around to talk to. “I don't know how well things are going. One minute they seem great. He's so kind and romantic.”

“Romantic? Now I'm jealous,” Mac said.

Sophie laughed and felt some of her tension ease. “Yeah, right, like you haven't turned my brother into a mush ball.”

Mac sighed again. “I know. But Tracker has never impressed me as the romantic type.”

“No. The problem is he's romantic one minute, then he pulls away the next.”

“That doesn't surprise me considering what happened to him as a kid. He doesn't talk about it, but after his mother died, he was put into the foster care system. He got into a lot of fights and that meant he was moved around a lot. He told Lucas once that his father was a violent man, and he was afraid his temper meant that he'd inherited some of his father's tendencies.”

“Mac, he's the gentlest, kindest man I've ever known.”

“Then all you have to do is have the patience to convince him of that.”

Sophie leaned back with a sigh. Patience had never been her long suit. “You know, this whole thing was easier when all I was going to do was play some games with those sex toys of yours.”

Mac laughed. “Yeah. Sex is the easy part. But don't get discouraged when he pulls away. Your brother once left me in a hotel room in Key West and I didn't think I'd ever see him again.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“I went after him.”

 

T
RACKER LET
N
ATALIE
G
IBBS
and Chance in the front door just as Sophie descended the wide sweep of stairs in the foyer of the house. He felt her accusing gaze at the back of his neck before he turned to face her. “We're having a strategy meeting,” he said.

Her brows shot up. “I thought we agreed that I would be filled in on everything from now on.”

“Of course. I didn't tell you they were coming because you needed the rest. But we're going to need all the brain power we can get for this.” His voice sounded stiff, formal. He was still angry with himself because he hadn't really wanted to leave her in his room to rest. When they'd come in from the stables, he'd taken her there, intending to let her sleep. But he hadn't been able to leave. Worse than that, he hadn't been able to keep himself from touching her and then making love to her. Even when she'd fallen asleep,
he'd barely been able to summon up the will to leave the room. But she'd needed the rest, and he'd needed to clear his head.

Now he could see in her eyes that she was annoyed. That was good, he told himself. It would help both of them maintain some distance. Even as he reminded himself of that, he moved to her and took her hand. Her annoyance faded immediately, and beneath it he saw the hurt. Before he could even think to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. “There's bad news, Sophie. We'll go into the living room, and Natalie and Chance can fill you in.”

An hour later, Tracker made himself lean back in his chair and concentrate on easing the tension out of his shoulders. Sophie had taken the news of the two deaths in England very well, and she was proving to be a very active participant in their strategy session. It was at her suggestion that they'd narrowed their suspect list to people who had been at Millie Langford-Hughes's party and had mentioned ceramic pieces.

They'd placed the names on separate folded sheets of paper and lined them up like place cards. Millie Langford-Hughes, Sir Winston Hughes and Chris Chandler. Natalie had insisted that they make a card for Noah, and they'd marked Chandler's card with a star to indicate that the Puppet Master might be one of his customers.

Tracker shifted his gaze to Sophie's two other interrogators. They worked surprisingly well together, considering how different their approaches were. Natalie Gibbs had a razor-sharp mind that worked in a relentlessly linear path, while Chance's mind seemed
to hopscotch all over the place. Together, they'd grilled Sophie pretty thoroughly on everything she could recall about the buying trip she'd made to the British Isles in the middle of May.

Sophie pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Yes, there were customers in the shop that day, but I was concentrating on business.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I don't think I could describe one of them if I tried. I remember John Landry because he talked to me.”

“Close your eyes,” Natalie suggested. “Try to picture them as if they're in a movie you're playing in your mind.”

Sophie leaned back in her chair. “There was a family with a little boy. He wanted to touch everything, and every time his parents looked away, he did. He would have broken a vase if this woman hadn't grabbed it when it dropped from his little hands.”

“What did she look like?” Natalie prompted.

“Stocky, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat. She laughed to reassure the little boy—a deep laugh, and she had large hands. I remember thinking that when she caught the vase. And that's all I can remember.”

“Let's try a new tack,” Tracker suggested. “I'm willing to bet that whatever triggered the killing spree happened the night of the party. The third coin was supposed to arrive that day. What if the Puppet Master was tempted to get a little too close this time and someone, perhaps John Landry, spotted him?”

Chance rose and began to pace. “That might explain why he left in such a hurry.”

“He seemed excited when he said goodbye to me,”
Sophie said. “I asked him what was wrong and he said something about seeing a stranger who looked familiar.”

“Anything else?” Tracker asked.

“He was flying back to England the next day.”

“That means he was pretty sure that we'd have everything tied up by then,” Chance said.

“Backtrack a little. Can you remember what you were talking about before he mentioned the familiar-looking stranger?” Tracker asked.

Sophie thought for a minute. “He came over to say goodbye, and then…we got to talking about the ceramic pieces. He mentioned that Matt Draper wanted to know if I'd gotten the horse. I forgot all about that.”

“Can you remember what you told him?” Tracker asked.

Sophie met his eyes. “I told him that I'd liked it so much I'd taken it right upstairs to uncrate by myself. I'm sorry I didn't remember that before.”