Standing in the Shadows (9 page)

He'd always been lean, and he forced himself to work out hard to compensate for the bum leg. He'd built back all the muscle mass that he'd lost in the coma, but he had no fat left on him at all. He could see every individual muscle and tendon moving under his skin when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. A goddamn walking anatomy poster. The burn scars didn't help much, either. Neither did the limp.

He wasn't much of a prize. Working for his older brother, snapping pictures of unfaithful spouses. He had no future. He barely had a present. All he had was a past, and everything in it nixed his chances of getting into Erin Riggs's bed.

What an idiot. Lusting after an ivory tower princess behind a wall of goddamn thorns. He wanted so badly to claw his way into that tower, and find out what went on behind those big, serious eyes. He wanted to make her smile. She hadn't smiled tonight. Not even once.

With that bracing thought, he put the car in gear and headed toward his brother Davy's lair, down on Lake Washington. Davy would be pissed at him for showing up three hours late, but he would just grumble and throw a steak on the grill. His stomach twitched with approval, one of the first signs of life he'd gotten from that quarter in a long while. Davy and Sean had taken up the practice of calling him at regular intervals and reminding him to eat. Annoying, but he guessed he was lucky that somebody cared. Otherwise he would be lost in space.

His younger brother Sean's Jeep was parked in the driveway. He was going to get lectured from both sides. They were talking on the back porch as he opened the door. Their voices suddenly ceased.

Two pairs of green eyes almost identical to his own scrutinized him as he stepped out onto the deck.

"You're late," Davy said. "We ate."

"Novak's busted out," Connor told them. "With two of his goons. One was that guy I roughed up last November. Georg Luksch."

They listened to the water lapping against the pebbles under the deck for a long moment.

"You think he's going to want to play with us?" Davy asked.

Connor sank into a chair, bone tired. "It's what he lives for."

Sean buried his face in his hands. "God. I'm swamped trying to get this business off the ground. I don't have time to play with Novak."

"I'm less worried about us than I am about Erin," Connor said.

Davy and Sean's gazes narrowed in on him, like a couple of laser beams. He bore it stoically.

"What about Erin?" Davy's deep voice was low and wary.

Connor folded a scrap of paper he'd found on the table into an origami unicorn. One of his bored-out-of-his-mind-in-rehab activities that had evolved into a full-blown nervous habit "He had Erin in his clutches once. I pulled her loose. He's not going to forget that. Georg Luksch won't forget it, either. She's pretty, and young, and clueless. He goes for that. And he's going to want to punish Riggs for failing him."

"Erin is not your problem," Davy said. "You did your best for her. You didn't get much thanks for it. The most you can do is warn her."

"I already did."

Davy and Sean exchanged meaningful glances.

"You talked to her?" Sean demanded. "Tonight?"

Connor braced himself. "I went to her place," he admitted. "Followed her to her mom's house. Gave her a ride home."

Sean winced. "Uh-oh. Here we go again."

Davy took a swig of beer, his hard, lean face impassive. "How's she doing?" he asked.

"Not well," Connor said. "Like hell, actually. Since you asked."

"Look, Con," Sean began. "Don't bite my head off, but—"

"How about you don't even start?" Connor suggested.

Sean barged on, undaunted. "I know you've been carrying a torch for that chick for years, but your testimony put her dad's ass in jail. You cannot be her hero, dude. You're just going to get hurt."

Sean's words made him feel bleak and sad, not angry. "Thank you for sharing your opinion," he said. He unfolded the unicorn, and scribbled Claude Mueller's name, e-mail address, and the flight information that he'd memorized onto the paper. He pushed it across the table toward Davy. "Would you check these out for me?"

Davy picked it up and examined it. "Who is this guy?"

"This is the mysterious millionaire who has recently developed a passionate interest in Celtic artifacts. Erin's flying down to Portland, to be met and driven to Silver Fork Resort, where she will proceed to authenticate a mess of priceless relics for him."

"And what is it exactly that bothers you about this?" Sean asked.

"Neither she nor anybody she knows has ever actually seen the millionaire," he said. "He's always been too busy to meet with her since he started hiring her. Four months ago."

"Ah." Davy's voice was thoughtful.

"Find out who's paying for those flights," Connor told him. "And find out everything you can about the Quicksilver Foundation."

"I'll see what I can do."

"She's leaving tomorrow. I told her she needed a bodyguard, and she spit in my eye," Connor said. "Threw me out of her apartment."

"I don't blame her," Sean said. "A guy who looks like you is not a good fashion accessory for a bodacious babe."

"Bite me," Connor said wearily. He pulled his tobacco and papers out of his pocket.

"Did it occur to you to shave, or brush your hair before you inflicted yourself on her?" Sean lectured. "Jesus, Con. You barbarian."

Connor nodded toward his older brother. "Davyl's got beard stubble. Bug him for a while."

"Davy's another story." Sean's voice was elaborately patient. "Davy irons his shirts. Davy eats. Beard stubble is a very different fashion statement on Davy."

Davy stroked his stubble and gave Connor an apologetic shrug.

Connor looked at Davy. "Speaking of food. You promised me a steak."

Davy looked startled. "You mean, you actually want some?"

"I'm hungry," Connor said.

Sean's jaw sagged. "So having Erin Riggs spit in your eye stimulates your appetite, huh?" He sprang to his feet. "One rare T-bone coming right up. I'll nuke you a baked potato, if you want."

"Make it two," Connor said. "Lots of butter and sour cream and chives. And don't forget the black pepper."

"Don't push your luck." Sean's grouching was belied by his huge grin. He kicked open the screen door and bounded toward the kitchen.

"When do you need the Mueller info?" Davy asked.

"Tomorrow morning. I'm taking a road trip down to Portland."

Davy's face darkened. "To meet her plane? Oh, Christ. Forget the hero routine just this once. Call Nick. They're the ones who should—"

"I already tried Nick. They think Novak's back in Europe."

"They probably have good reason to think so," Davy growled.

"I've got a bad feeling," Connor said. "She can't go meet this guy all alone. If Ed were around, it would be his job to look after her, but—"

"But Ed's not around," Davy cut in. "And that is not your fault."

"It's not Erin's fault, either." Connor avoided his brother's gaze as he finished rolling the cigarette. "And I don't blame myself."

Davy slammed his beer bottle onto the table, a rare show of temper for his self-contained brother. "The hell you don't. You can't save the whole world, lamebrain. Get your own life back on track before you go racing off to rescue some damsel in distress."

"I didn't ask for your opinion on my love life," Connor retorted.

Davy's lowering eyebrows shot up. "Whoa," he said. "Back up two steps. Who said anything about your love life?"

Connor cupped the cigarette in his hand and lit it. He took a deep drag and exhaled, to calm himself down before he dared to speak.

"Leave it alone, Davy," he said.

"Watch it, Con," Davy said. "You're treading on shaky ground."

Sean burst through the screen door and passed Connor a cold beer. "Food'll be out in a few," he announced.

"Thanks," Connor muttered.

Sean looked from one brother to the other. His eyes narrowed. "Did I miss something?"

"No," Davy and Connor said, in unison.

Sean scowled. "I
hate
it when you guys do that," he snapped. He slammed the screen door behind him, hard.

Connor finished his cigarette in grim silence. Davy for once had the good sense to nurse his beer and keep his mouth shut.

Sean kicked open the door a few minutes later and placed a loaded plate in front of Connor. He dug into it without hesitation.

His two brothers silently watched him consume a twelve-ounce steak, two big baked potatoes, a sliced tomato, and three big hunks of hot, toasted French bread slathered with garlic butter.

Connor finally noticed their fixed stares. "Cut it out, you guys," he protested. "Quit watching me eat, already. You're inhibiting me."

Davy crossed his arms over his barrel chest. "Give us a break. We haven't seen you eat like that for sixteen months."

"It's awesome." Sean's face was unusually serious. "That's a week's worth of calories for you, Con. All in one meal. Check you out."

Connor mopped up the last of his steak juice with a hunk of bread. He felt a vague stab of guilt. "You guys shouldn't worry. I'm fine."

Davy snorted. "We'll see how fine you feel when you get back from Portland."

Sean frowned. "What's this about Portland?"

"He's going to be Erin's welcoming committee when she goes to meet the mysterious millionaire who may or may not be Novak," Davy told him. "He wants to guard her luscious body. Personally."

"Oh, Christ. You don't say. Well, finish your dinner, then. You're going to need your strength. What hardware you taking?" Sean asked.

"Just the SIG. And the Ruger SP-101, for backup."

"Want some company?" Sean asked.

Connor glanced at him, startled. "I thought you were busy."

"I'm not too busy to watch my brother's back," Sean said.

Connor's mouth twitched. "Think I need a baby-sitter, huh?"

"Interpret it however the fuck you want."

Connor finished the final swallow of beer. "I'm OK on my own," he said. "Thanks. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"You want Erin all to yourself, huh?"

Connor ignored his younger brother's taunting with the ease of long practice. "Would you guys contact Seth and Raine about Novak?"

"I'm on it," Sean said promptly.

"I'll go get to work on this info," Davy said. "Get some sleep, Connor. You look beat. Crash here, and I'll give you the rundown over breakfast. The bed's already made up for you on the side porch."

"Thanks." He got to his feet and stared at his brothers, struck by the bizarre urge to say something sentimental to them.

Sean read it in his eyes, took pity on him, and headed him off. "Get a goddamn haircut if you're looking to get laid, Con."

Connor winced. "You are such a pig."

"Sure, but at least I look good," was Sean's parting shot.

Connor flopped onto the bed, staring out at the mass of tree branches that swayed outside the glassed-in side porch. The chair next to the bed had a towel, washcloth, and a pair of Davy's folded sweats lying on it, presumably for him to sleep in. He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. He closed his eyes, and his photographic memory promptly served up the image of Erin puttering around in her kitchen, her sweet, curvy body delicious in the faded jeans and T-shirt.

Fresh fodder for his sexual imagination. He'd fantasized about sneaking into her bedroom at Ed and Barbara's house for years. He'd imagined himself, a big, blundering bull in that feminine world of ruffles and lace, puffy pillows, perfume bottles, lingerie. And Erin, backing up toward her bed, her eyes heavy with excitement as he locked the door.

That fantasy had infinite variations, all of them red hot and X-rated, but tonight the setting changed by itself, unguided by his conscious mind. The ultra-femme bedroom of his fantasies gave way to the crowded studio apartment in the Kinsdale. Painfully neat and organized, the braided rug brightening up the scarred linoleum floor, the crazy quilt covering the narrow cot. Heaps of books piled against the wall. Alphabetized, for God's sake. How cute. Every detail lit by the patterned glow of the basket lamp and charged with erotic heat.

The Kinsdale room didn't make him feel clumsy and alien like the fantasy bedroom did, but it was even more alluring, because Erin was all over it. Her practicality and tidiness, her whimsical sense of humor, her refusal to give in to self-pity. Bright colors, indomitable spirit. That room was sexier than any place he could have dreamed up on his own.

He buried his face in the coarse wool army blanket and let the fantasy unfold. He kissed the salty tears off her cheeks, and she opened and clung to him as he devoured her tender mouth. He knelt down and nuzzled the warmth of that velvety strip of skin between the T-shirt and the waistband of her jeans that had so tantalized him tonight. He popped the buttons of the jeans open and tongued her navel as he dragged those jeans and panties down over her curvy hips, her round ass. Slowly, inch by precious inch, reveling in her hot female smell: baby powder and flower petal and ocean salt. He breathed it, in big, greedy gulps. He peeled every scrap of clothing away until she was naked, arms held out to him, her eyes soft with trust.

Yeah. Trust. He shoved away the derisive voices in his head. This was his fantasy, and he'd run it how he damn well pleased.

She trembled as he put his arms around her from behind and explored the exquisite, plump fullness of her breasts. Vivid details were imprinted in his mind as if they were memories, not fantasies. Her nipples puckered against his hand, tender buttons of flesh aching to be tongued and suckled. Her hair clip pulled loose, and her glossy hair tumbled and slid across her shoulders like a swath of dark satin.

He slid his hand over the rounded swell of her belly, delving into her dark thatch, searching for hidden treasure in the wet, secret heat of her cleft. She tightened around his fingers and flung her head back against his shoulder, squirming and whimpering with pleasure.

He pushed her down onto the bed and pushed her soft thighs until they sprawled apart. He cupped her rosy ass cheeks, kissed and tongued the folds and hollows between her legs, the electric fuzz of dark hair. He opened her like a dripping fruit with his tongue, sliding it along the glistening, succulent folds of her labia, wallowing in her colors and flavors. Lazy and slow, taking his time. Suckling her clit, flicking and lashing it with his tongue. He would bury his head between her thighs and thrust his tongue deep. He would make her buck and writhe and press her cunt against his face, until she jerked and sobbed and came.