The Quiet Seduction (14 page)

When the dark thicket between her thighs drew his gaze, his touch, and eventually, his lips, she shuddered
convulsively. He savored her there, then groaned and rose quickly above her. In the warm glow of lamplight, he found her ineffably beautiful and told her so, his voice gruff with emotion, and when she closed her eyes, her lashes were gleaming with moisture.

This won't be the last time, he vowed silently. He had no right to make promises—had no way of knowing where he would be tomorrow or if he'd even be alive. If tonight was all they could share, he would do his best to make it a memorable one.

Turning aside, he opened the drawer in the bedside table with one hand. A moment later, when he moved over her, she was ready, lips parted, eyes glowing softly. He could see the faint flutter of her heart echoed in the shadows of her breasts.

Carefully, he positioned himself and slowly entered her. This time there was a sense of inevitability in the act, almost a sense of sadness.

One thrust, and then like spark to tinder, they burst into flames. She wrapped her long, cool legs around his waist and whimpered, her fingers clutching his sweat-damp sides as together they raced toward the explosion of sheer, unimaginable pleasure.

Long after the race ended, she lay in his arms, breathing softly through parted lips. “I need to…” she began drowsily, and he laid a finger over her mouth, still swollen from his kisses.

“Shh, you need to stay here until I decide whether or not I'll need that crutch again to get out of bed.”

She smiled. At least he thought she did. Moving his head to look was too great an effort at the moment.

“Stay here. There's no need for you to get up, but I really should go out to check on things in the barn again.”

“You stay here. I'll go check on the girls,” Spence said without opening his eyes.

Neither of them made a move to get up. Spence wasn't at all sure he could walk. Aftershocks still reverberated through his body from what had to have been the most profound sexual experience of his entire life. He didn't know if the aura of danger had added the extra element, or if it was sensing that this might be the last time.

“Knowing Pete,” Ellen said, “he's probably sneaked downstairs and is camping out in the barn.”

“Let's hope Miss Sara waits awhile before going into her act. I don't think I want him bursting in here right now with a progress report.”

“I'd better get up,” Ellen said sleepily.

“I'll go. If Pete's in the barn, do you want him to come inside?”

“Wouldn't do any good. He'd just hang out his bedroom window trying to see what was going on.”

“Mmm…” He nuzzled the place behind her ear where she was incredibly sensitive. He had discovered more than one place on her body where a single kiss could have her gasping for breath.

But as it turned out, they both got up. Just as Spence was reaching for the bedside table drawer again, the phone rang in the kitchen. He froze. Ellen sat up, grabbed her bathrobe and went to answer it. Who the devil would be calling at this time of night? Spence wondered as he pulled on a pair of jeans. The vet? Hardly. The old guy had struck him as adequate, but about ten years past retirement age. Besides, why would old Doc Leonard be calling at this hour?

“Hello?” Ellen said hesitantly. He could hear her
clearly through the door she'd left open. After a brief pause she said, “Who's calling? Who is this?”

Zipping his fly, Spence hurried into the kitchen to see her standing there, the phone dangling from its cord. The look on her face was more puzzled than frightened.

Catching sight of him, she said, “That was odd. It was for you…I think.” From the other side of the room, Spence could hear the dial tone. She made no move to hang up the receiver.

“Ellen?”

“He said— It was this man. When I said ‘Hello?' he said, ‘Tell your sweetheart we'll be paying him a visit.”'

The room was not particularly cold, but Spence felt as if he'd just been doused with a bucket of ice water. “And when you asked who was calling?”

“He just said, ‘You tell him that, you hear?”'

E
llen finished putting on her bathrobe and made coffee, then raced upstairs to check on Pete, who was sound asleep in his own bed. Evidently the fencing plus the preliminary driving lesson had worn him out.

They agreed that the horses would have to wait. Whatever was going on was serious, possibly even dangerous. Even now Ellen shuddered, remembering the sound of that gravely voice on the phone.

Wordlessly, she placed a cup of black coffee on the table at Spence's elbow. Funny, she thought, how quickly she'd gotten used to thinking of him as Spence and not Storm. Although he'd apparently been in the middle of a storm that had nothing to do with the weather when she'd found him.

Finders keepers. The childish phrase popped into her mind, and she shoved it away. She was just beginning to realize that no matter how intimately she knew this man, he wasn't hers to keep. Up until two weeks ago he'd had a full life that hadn't included her at all.

He was talking now to someone named Flynt. “I have a feeling time's running out, so let's make this fast and get off the line. Here's what I need.” Speaking rapidly, he proceeded to read off the items he'd scribbled on the back of her grocery list.

The man sprawled out on one of her kitchen chairs, barefoot, bare-chested, the top of his jeans undone, was
a stranger, Ellen told herself. A stranger who snapped out questions and demands as if he were used to being in command.

“Someplace that can't be connected—something well off the beaten track.”

Was he describing her farm? Connected to what? To whom? It was most definitely off the beaten track.

By the time he finished she was too furious to listen to the rest of the conversation, which was cryptic, at best. The moment he hung up, she nailed him to the wall with a furious glare. “What do you mean, you're going to need a place to stash a woman and an eight-year old boy?” she snapped.

“Shhh, don't wake Pete. Calm down and I'll explain.”

“Nobody stashes me and my son anywhere. Besides, my horses are right in the middle of having their babies. I can't walk out now.”

If his nerves weren't on razor edge, Spence might have been amused by the small bundle of fury glaring at him as if he were a mouse she'd just discovered in her lingerie drawer. “Back off, Ellen. Things are coming together faster than I'd expected. Unfortunately, you and Pete are involved.” He broke off, paced a tight circle, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, his mind racing down half a dozen avenues at once. “All right, the first thing we have to do is get you and Pete somewhere where you'll be out of the line of fire if worse comes to worst.”

“What do you mean, the line of fire? Shooting? You mean—”

“I'm trying to tell you what I mean,” he explained with patience dredged up from some deep reservoir. “The men who came looking for me were part of the
mob. The Texas Mafia.” She gasped. He waited to let it sink in. “Honey, I told you they played hardball. The case I was working on when I got sidetracked involved the murder of a federal judge—a man who's responsible for my being who I am and what I am today, instead of just one more bad apple. The guy who's on trial for Judge Bridges's murder is named Alex Black.”

“I remember reading something awhile back…”

Spence nodded. Quickly he outlined the case in which he hoped to discover who was pulling the defendant's strings. Black might have done the hit, but professional hit men didn't kill for the fun of it, they killed for the money. Spence needed to know who had paid him and why. And whether or not it had anything to do with the fact that it had been Carl Bridges who had cleared Spence and his two closest friends of any implication in the disappearance of Haley Mercado, a woman who had supposedly drowned.

But that was another story, and right now time was at a premium. When he'd been knocked off course by that twister, he had already gathered most of the evidence needed to put a crimp in the mob's activities for the next ten to twenty years. On the verge of documenting the last piece of the puzzle to turn it over to the FBI, fate in the form of the weather had intervened.

Ellen opened her mouth to ask a question—he had offered her only the sketchiest of explanations. He couldn't afford to tell her any more, even if he'd had the time.

“Now listen, I want you to call your father and—”

“My father? No way. Absolutely not!” She plopped down onto the chair across the table, then jumped up again.

His patience already badly frayed, Spence tried again. “Ellen, I'm not asking you to go hat in hand, begging for favors. You said before that you'd never do that, and I can appreciate your feelings, but for Pete's sake— What I mean is—” He broke off and swore. “Oh, hell, just listen to me, all right? Now, you mentioned your father's bodyguard.”

“Driver.”

“You said bodyguard.”

“I exaggerated. Howard was hired as a driver, but he was an ex-policeman, so he sort of doubled as a bodyguard.”

“All right, all right. The thing is, if your father's the kind of man I think he is, you'll be safe there. At least as safe as anywhere I can come up with on short notice. Even safe houses take some arranging, and under the circumstances we can't even be sure their security hasn't been compromised.”

She was scared. She was trembling. She was also as stubborn as one of those locust fence posts he'd worn himself out wrestling into submission.

“Ellen, time's passing and we've got to come up with something. The sooner we get started, the better. My friend will locate a place, but it might not be what you're used to. You'd be a whole lot better off with your father.”

“I told you—”

They were both on their feet by now. Spence, with a feeling of trouble closing in on him, practically shouted, “Damn it, I can't just walk off and leave you and Pete here alone!”

“We were alone before I dug you out of that ditch. We'll be alone once you're gone.” Her chin trembled when she spoke, and he forced himself to calm down.
One thing he'd always been known for, even back in the days of his wild and reckless youth, was coolness under fire.

“All right, then, we'll just have to come up with something else. In a few minutes I should have some answers. Either you can go along with whatever arrangements have been made on your behalf or I roll you up in a rug, toss you into the back of the truck and haul you to—” He'd been about to say his apartment, but that would be the last place to stash her. The first place anyone would look. His ranch was out of the question for the same reason. “To the freight office and ship you off to your father C.O.D,” he finished, dangerously close to losing it again.

Before she could return fire, the battle was interrupted by the arrival of reinforcements. Greatly relieved, Spence crossed to the windows, twitched aside the hopsack curtains and peered outside. Two dark SUVs pulled up into the shadow of the tractor shed. Ellen hurried to switch on the outside lights, her eyes round as saucers. “I have a shotgun,” she whispered.

“Thanks, honey, but these are our guys. You can stand down now.”

She looked at him as if she thought he'd lost his mind. All things considered, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility, he admitted with a wry touch of irony.

Ellen went to brush past him and, acting on impulse, he caught her in his arms and kissed her soundly before she could utter a single protest. “There,” he said, reeling slightly from the effect. Or maybe the effects of the past two weeks—the past few hours, in particular. “That'll have to last us for the duration.”

It was Spence who opened the door for the new ar
rivals. “If you guys ever want a career change, I'd recommend Nascar.”

“I distinctly heard you say you were running out of time.”

“You heard right. Look, there's a lot to explain, but first I need to know…” And then he saw the men staring at Ellen.

Well, hell, what man wouldn't? He made the introductions quickly. “Ellen, this is Flynt Carson.” Spence indicated the tall, sandy-haired man with the unsmiling face. “And this is Tyler Murdoch. They're both old friends. You can trust them with your life.” Unfortunately, it might come down to just that. “Guys, this is Ellen Wagner. Her son, Pete, is sleeping upstairs. Other than that, the place is empty.”

Tyler, dark and ruggedly handsome, nodded and said, “Ma'am.” To Spence he said, “I recruited Jose and Donita. They're up for it, they know horses and besides, they owe me a favor. Nita's out there now looking over the stock while Jose checks out the perimeter.”

Flynt glanced through the drawn draperies. “We'd better get a move on, folks. It's starting to get light.”

“Much traffic?” Spence wasn't too concerned about a tail, as the whole thing had been set up so hurriedly. But then, he hadn't stayed alive for thirty-five years by taking things for granted.

“All clear. Be good if we can get out of here within the next twenty minutes, though.”

Ellen looked from one speaker to the other, a dazed expression on her pale face. Spence couldn't much blame her. She hadn't asked for any of this, yet she'd been tossed into deep, shark-filled waters with no warning. This was the only life boat he had to offer and
from the way she was looking at him, she didn't quite trust it not to sink with all hands on board.

“You sound like…like some kind of agents. Tell me you don't smear black paint on your faces and jump out of airplanes.”

“Nothing so glamorous, I'm afraid.” It was Spence who answered. “I'll fill you in on their résumés when we have more time. Things are moving a little too fast right now. I want to get you and Pete away from here before we have any unexpected visitors.”

“Spence, I told you—”

“It's just for the duration.”

“I am not—underline that—
not
going home to my father. When and if I do, it won't be when I need something from him.”

Flynt looked at Ellen, then looked at Tyler and shrugged. Spence had no trouble interpreting the look.
Our friend here is in more trouble than he let on.

“Okay, message received,” he said to Ellen. “When and if you go back home, it'll be on your own terms. Look, we've burnt up too much time arguing already, so you're just going to have to accept whatever arrangements have been made. Do we have a deal?”

Pride was something he could understand and even admire, but this was a hell of a time to have to skirt around a family feud. He turned to Tyler Murdoch. “What have you got lined up?”

“Ever hear of Greasy Pond? It's about ten miles east of town. No connection to any of us. Couple dozen fishing shacks. Old geezer who runs the place minds his own business. I did him a favor a few months ago. He says most of the shacks are empty now, so I put a hold on three together. I can have security moved in
before we get there, if Ms. Wagner doesn't mind roughing it for a few days.”

“Ellen?”

“Fine! Whatever! If I have to go, I'll go. But I'm on record as not liking it, y'hear?”

“Protest duly noted,” Spence said.

“What about my horses? What about my house?”

“The couple they brought in will take care of everything. You won't be gone long. Give me a couple of days to set certain wheels in motion, and you'll be back home before you know it.”

Ellen's face was pale, her eyes wide and wary. Spence knew what she was thinking, but damn it, there was no time for reassurances. Not the kind he wanted to make at any rate. And definitely not with an audience.

“We'd better start moving, then.” It was the dark, rugged-looking Tyler who spoke, after signaling someone through the window. “Jose and Donita will look after things here, don't worry about that. They're both special agents, but they know horses.”

“What kind of agents? They don't know my horses.”

Any other woman and Spence swore silently he'd have dumped her into a trunk, hauled her out and stashed her in the SUV for her own good. He was tempted, damned if he wasn't. “Honey, let's face it—neither do you. You've got some book learning, but not a whole lot of practical experience. Jose was born on a ranch. When he's not on a mission for— Well, never mind that. Suffice it to say he's spent years working with horses in one capacity or another. Donita barrel-raced her way to a state championship, so your stock will be in excellent hands. Besides, it'll all be
over in a few days.” I sincerely hope, he added silently.

“This place you're taking us…this Greasy Pond place? What will we do there? Where will you be? How will we know when it's safe to come home?”

Gently, Spence placed a finger over her lips. “Don't worry about that right now, worry about how much you want to tell Pete while you're packing enough to last for a few days. You've got five minutes. Go!”

Ellen raked her hands through her hair, leaving it standing on end. With one bleak look, she went. Spence knew he hadn't heard the last of it, not by a long shot. He was going to have a whale of a lot of explaining to do when this business was all over, but for now, at least she trusted him enough to follow his instructions. That womanly instinct thing again. God knows, it had to be something like that, because no woman in her right mind would swallow all he'd sprung on her in the past twenty-four hours.

Ellen trudged upstairs. She refused to cry. Pete would be upset enough without her falling apart, too. Standing near the foot of the stairs, the three men conferred quietly. She tried to listen in, but they might as well be speaking in Swahili for all she could understand.

“Is the kid going to be a problem?” Flynt murmured when the woman disappeared into one of the upstairs rooms.

Spence shook his head. “Best-case scenario, he won't even wake up. I can scoop him up in his blanket and carry him out to the car, and by the time he wakes, Ellen can hand him a fishing pole.”