Then You Hide (9 page)

His blue eyes darkened as he drank in every inch of her with raw appreciation. “That is a Wade Cordell euphemism”—he reached under the bottom of his jeans—“for what a man…does to a woman”—he pulled something out at his ankle—“with a body like that.”

She started to smile until she realized what he was holding.

A gun.

She gave a shocked gasp. “What the fuck?”

He pointed the shiny barrel toward the floor. “You really need some soap in your mouth, young lady.”

“I didn’t know you were armed.”

“I believe your words were ‘Use whatever else you’ve got up your sleeve.’ In this case, it’s up my pants.”

She backed up, pointing. “That changes everything. I hate guns.”

“Not to worry, sweetheart. I’m real good with it.”

“I don’t care if you’re the goddamn best shot in the country—”

“I am.”

All the heat and sexual buzz evaporated, leaving her cold and wickedly disappointed. “You have to get rid of it. I can’t be in the same room with it.”

He snorted as he rid himself of his jeans and unclipped some kind of ankle holster. “Not an option. But don’t worry.” Naked except for his boxer briefs and the weapon, he opened his palm, revealing a wood-grip pistol with some gold trim. “I can handle any firearm made, in my sleep.”

“Not if I’m sleeping next to you.”

“Vanessa, guns don’t kill—”

“I know, I know.” She held up two hands to stop him. “I know all that NRA crap. I’ve debated with the bastards, fought them at city hall, held the hands of broken-hearted wives and mothers.”
Stood at my father’s grave and wept
. “Just keep that out of my sight, if you can.”

The sound of footsteps coming down the hallway halted the argument. Wade held up a finger to his mouth, then pointed to the bed. “Go.”

She hesitated but knew it wasn’t the time to fight. As she turned toward the bed, he bounded past her to whip decorative pillows to the floor and throw back the spread.

“Get in,” he ordered.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

She dove for the sheets just as he did. He was on top of her instantly, covering her body, the gun in his right hand.

Without taking his eyes from the door, he slid off her glasses and set them on the bedside table. “Don’t worry, I can see enough for both of us.”

The door handle rattled, and he held her still, then put his mouth over her ear. “We either let him know we’re here and maybe scare him off, or stay real quiet and see if he comes in, then ambush him. Your call.”

The door handle rattled again. “There’s no security lock?”

He shook his head. “If he has a pass key, he can come right in.” He lifted the gun. “I’m cool with that.”

She nodded. “Then don’t scare him off. Let him come in, and we’ll surprise him.”

This time, the handle turned, and the door inched open. From the bed, they could see only the back of the door, not who was on the other side. Vanessa instinctively inched up, but Wade held her steady and motionless, the gun visible in her peripheral vision, his body taut.

The door hit something and stopped moving. She lifted her head to see her sneakers probably at the same time the person entering did.

The door slammed shut, and footsteps pounded in the hall.

“Shit,” she mumbled, trying to scoot up. “He chickened out.”

“Shhh. Just wait.” He lifted his head a little to listen, which pushed his chest harder into hers. His legs were spread over hers, and his cotton briefs warmed her stomach and hips. She arched a little to push him off her, but the move had the opposite effect, causing crotch-to-crotch contact.

“He may only have been verifying that we’re in here. Just wait.”

She did, staring at his face, his thick lashes just inches from hers, his jaw clenched and angular, tiny squint lines at the corners of his eyes. He was hard and hot and strong and covered every inch of her with corded muscles. All man.

Damn if her body didn’t betray her with the first twist of desire.

She closed her eyes, which just made her other senses go on alert. He smelled like a man. And certainly felt like a man. And…oh, if she put her mouth on his, she’d bet he tasted like one helluva man.

A minute passed, and nothing happened.

Except every cell in her body got warm.

She shifted under him, her legs brushing the soft hair of his, her breasts rubbing his chest. He seemed so unfazed by this, while she felt so vulnerable. “Can I have my glasses back?”

He picked them up from the pillow and put them on her eyes. “You really need them?”

“Why else would I wear them?”

“They aren’t very strong,” he said, lifting them above her brows to look directly into her eyes. “Camouflage, maybe. Or to deflect enemies.”

“Spoken like a true Marine. I happen to like the way they look. And the way I see,” she added quickly.

He continued his scrutiny of her face, zeroing in on her eyes. “You’re pretty.” He said it as if he’d just figured that out, and it surprised him.

She patted his face with one hand and tapped the glasses back into place with the other. “You’ve already got me naked in bed, so you can save the pickup lines.”

“It wasn’t a line. You are pretty. Pretty and tough is an unusual combination.”

“Then you’ve been hanging out with the wrong girls.” She shifted to her right, but that put her thigh against his crotch. “You should hang out on Wall Street instead of

Peachtree Street

. We’re all pretty and tough up there.”

“Maybe I should.” His lips lifted in a smile as he settled his attention on her mouth. Against her leg, he hardened. The sensation shot fire right through her, making her want to give into the need to rock against him. Instead, she stayed perfectly still while he studied her mouth, her cheeks, her nose.

Then he lifted the frames of her glasses again, sliding them all the way up her forehead. “I’m probably close enough that you don’t need these to see me,” he said softly. “And I like to be able to look right into a woman’s eyes…when I kiss her.”

He lowered his head, keeping his gaze on hers, and opened his mouth as he closed in for the kiss. Her heart slammed up, and her stomach dropped down.

“I thought this was pretend,” she said breathily.

“Yeah.” His lips touched hers, but only enough to tease. “Pretend I’m not human.” He let his teeth graze her bottom lip. “And pretend you don’t want this as much as I do.” He touched the tip of her tongue with his, his eyes still open. Then she closed hers, ready to—

The latch clicked with a snap, and the door opened. Instantly, he flipped off her, the gun out again.

“Housekeeping!” a woman’s voice called as the door opened. “Turn-down.”

“No thanks,” he called back, already partially sitting. Instinctively, Vanessa pulled the blankets up, her attention torn between the gun and the door and the naked man poised to fire a bullet.

“Do you need towels, sir?” the woman called. “Toiletries or bottled water?”

He leaned over and put his mouth on her ear. “She could be the messenger.”

“Then let her in,” she replied softly. “But please don’t shoot her.”

“We’ll take fresh towels,” he called out, sliding the gun under the spread.

The door opened, and all they could see was a pile of white towels. Vanessa fisted her hands, bracing for someone menacing to pop out from behind them.

But only the friendly face of a young hotel maid appeared as she ambled in and muttered an apology as she looked at the bed.

“Mighty late at night for a turn-down, ma’am,” Wade said.

“I’m sorry. I am running very behind tonight.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “May I?”

“Go right ahead.”

She went into the bathroom, and Wade stood, stashed the gun in the back of his boxer briefs waistband, and reached over to turn the light on.

Vanessa blinked at the brightness and watched him move to the bottom of the bed, positioning himself so that when the maid came out, she couldn’t see his back. She scooched deeper into the covers, listening to the woman hum quietly as she placed towels on the shelves.

Then she stepped out, looking from one to the other. “I am so sorry for the interruption.”

Wade lifted a shoulder. “No problem.”

She glanced at the wake of clothes between the door and the bed and gave Vanessa a knowing smile. “Honeymoon?”

Did Wade really think this petite and tired-looking woman was dangerous? Maybe a bit presumptuous, but not involved in some conspiracy to pin a murder on Clive Easterbrook. She was probably a single mom who lived in a run-down part of the island and worked her ass off sixty hours a week for tips from the rich folks.

“Just a vacation,” Wade said, remarkably casual for a man who was one slice of cotton away from naked, with a gun slung at his backside.

The woman didn’t move, still looking expectantly at Wade. No doubt, she was waiting for a tip. “Have you been to Pinney’s Beach yet?” she asked.

Definitely stalling for a tip. Should Vanessa get up and get it? If Wade turned, she’d see the gun.

She looked at Wade for a clue, but he was completely focused on the young woman.

“Not yet, Shayla,” he said.

She looked surprised at the use of her name, then glanced at the badge on her uniform.

“You should go,” she said. “And on the way, you should visit the batik makers in the mountain, right off the main road. Nevis is famous for our batik.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Yes. In fact, my sister lives in Jessup’s Village, just a little ways up the road, and she makes the most beautiful shawls, like no others on the island. You should go see her. She’ll be there tomorrow morning. I will call her and tell her an American couple is coming. She will give you an excellent price on a batik shawl.”

Vanessa’s veins turned to ice.

She was
sending
them there.

“Maybe we will,” Wade said to her, then looked at Vanessa. “You up for that, sweetheart?”

“Sure, I’d love to go,” she agreed, then asked Shayla, “Anywhere else you suggest we see while we’re here?”

“You should go to St. Kitts, too.”

“We’ve been there already,” Wade said.

Did she know that? Vanessa studied the woman’s face, looking for a clue but seeing nothing. But Wade didn’t look as if he trusted her at all.

What did he see that she didn’t?

“Well, then you know that it is all beautiful in the West Indies,” the housekeeper said. “Enjoy your stay, and thank you.”

Wade nodded, ushering her to the door without revealing his gun.

Vanessa waited until the door closed, ready to launch into a debate on whether or not they’d been intentionally sent to a local village. But he returned with the same dark and intent look on his face.

“Don’t say a word,” he mouthed as he marched into the bathroom.

In a few seconds, she heard a clicking noise, as if he was…snapping his fingers?

“She was a nice lady, don’t you think?” Something about his voice, not to mention the weirdness of the question, caught her.

“Uh, yeah.”

“We should go look at those batik shawls. I’ll buy you one.”

Was he serious? Didn’t he suspect that woman had been the very person they were waiting for, and her suggestion was more than a friendly tip on where to buy a nice souvenir?

“Wade, don’t you—”

He snapped again. Louder.

What the hell? Vanessa rolled out of bed, far too curious to care about her near nakedness. In the bathroom, Wade was crouched in front of a stainless-steel shelving unit where the towels had been placed, pointing to something stuck on the bottom shelf.

She got down on her knees and followed his finger.

“Let’s go in the morning, after breakfast,” he said, pointing at a black square about the size of her baby fingernail, so well hidden she’d never have seen it. “What was the name of the place again? Jessup’s Village?”

He tapped his ear as if to say someone could hear them.

A listening device?

“Don’t you think? Tomorrow morning?” He continued the faux conversation without missing a beat as he stood and pulled her into his chest. “Or would you rather stay in all day?”

His voice was low and sexy, a little muffled as he kissed her neck, taking a direct path right to her ear. “Work with me, Vanessa,” he whispered.

“Uh, gee…tomorrow. I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, pressed against him, and tried to think of what she would say if they were really alone. But her mind went blank, and all she could do was respond to his mouth on her skin, hard and firm and hot. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”

“All right,” he said with a low, knowing laugh. “Let’s go think about it in there.” He walked her backward toward the bedroom, and as they passed the sink, he flipped a faucet on full blast. “Just let me wash up, babe.”

He pointed her toward the bedroom and followed her, closing the bathroom door behind him so carefully the latch didn’t make a sound. Then he instantly covered her mouth with a kiss before she could speak.

“Be careful what you say,” he murmured into her mouth. “We have an audience.” Sure that he’d gotten his message across, he broke the kiss, his blue eyes full of warning. “You’re being tracked by someone who knows what they’re doing,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“My guess is that either someone thinks you can find Clive and they don’t want you to, or someone wants to find him and hopes you can lead them to him.”

She frowned, considering the options and hating them. Either Clive was in danger, or he’d done something seriously wrong.

“What should we do?” she asked. “Try to fake them out about where we’re going? Or should we really go to the batik place tomorrow and try to find out who it is and what they want from me?”

“We keep the game going. You don’t want them to know you’re on to them.”

She could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Or was that his? They were so close it was hard to tell.

“Can’t you disassemble that device?” she asked.

“That’ll tip them off.” He took the gun out from his waistband, silently setting it high on the chest of drawers. “Right now, they think you are completely occupied with a man, and we’re going to make sure they think they’re right. Then we’ll—”