Authors: Becky Barker
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #General
The thought both disgusted and infuriated him. The disgust was normal, the anger wasn't, and that worried him. He had no business getting more deeply involved.
Aside from Margie, there hadn't been many serious relationships in his life. In his early years, he'd been too focused on his career to think about long-term commitments. Since Margie, he'd been too wary. Anytime he got involved, it was with the clear understanding that he wasn't looking for permanency.
He should be thanking Rianna for calling a halt to an explosive situation, but he couldn't find the words.
She'd put on a pair of pink shorts with a white, cropped top that partially bared her midriff. Her hair looked clean, soft and shiny. Her arms and legs already looked a shade darker and just a little sunburned.
He'd been aware of her activity ever since the movie ended, but now he realized she'd been baking. The scent of cookies filled the galley, making his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had freshly baked cookies.
"We need to refuel," he said, capturing her attention.
She looked directly at him, but her expression remained guarded.
"According to this map, there's a huge dock called Burnside at the other end of the lake. I'm heading there now."
Rianna nodded. "It might be better to steer clear of the dock where we left the car. That way none of the staff will get too familiar with the sight of us."
"We need to call Sullivan," he added, "but we can't use a local pay phone. Do you have a cellular?"
"Yes, but it's probably of no use out here. It should work once we get to a little higher elevation."
"Okay, then, we'll dock, refuel and take a hike until we can get a signal."
Rianna merely nodded, looking more subdued than he'd ever seen her. It made him feel guilty, yet irritated by the guilt. He searched for a way to ease the disturbing tension between them.
"
You sharing
any of those cookies? They sure smell good," he said, his tone light as he offered an olive branch.
The innocent pleasure that lit her features made a knot in his gut. She offered him a tentative smile along with the cookies, and the knot tightened, a sure sign that he was beginning to care too much. He knew better than to get emotionally involved, yet she made it hard to maintain an impersonal distance.
"They're just the packaged kind you slice and bake," she warned, easing more of the strained atmosphere.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he said, taking a handful. He thanked her and turned back to the wheel.
The refueling didn't take much time. After they'd finished, Kyle steered them into an empty birth where he secured the boat. Rianna grabbed her oversize bag and they started climbing the winding path toward the highway.
People and cars came and went, but no one paid them much attention. They were just another couple of strangers in an area swarming with vacationers. They walked steadily uphill for half an hour, and then settled onto a wooden bench while Rianna called Sullivan.
"The call's being forwarded," she said. "He's probably not home from the office yet."
Kyle leaned his head closer so that he could hear any conversation, but the move brought his face disturbingly close to hers. Close enough that he could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo. His pulse reacted, and then he heard the
click
of a connection.
"Sullivan."
"It's Phantom," said Rianna.
"You and Tremont okay?"
"We're fine," said Kyle. "How's everything on your end? Is Gregory behind bars?"
Sullivan's tone was grim. "Not yet."
"Why not?" they demanded in unison.
"The district attorney got the indictment, but we're waiting on a search warrant for his estate. As soon as we have it, we'll arrest him. I don't want to give him an opportunity to have evidence destroyed. We want to take him and his cohorts by surprise, or they'll go into hiding behind a bunch of high-priced lawyers."
"Sounds like a solid plan," said Tremont.
"Is there anything I should look for besides his business records?"
"My suite of rooms is on the northeast corner of the house," explained Rianna. "The closet has a circular clothes rack with a center section portioned off for shoes. That's where you'll find the videotapes I couldn't smuggle out with me. There should be five. It's important that you keep the one labeled 'Party.' The rest can be turned in to the agency."
"Why should I keep any of them? You know it won't be valid evidence unless it's legally confiscated during the search."
"It's not part of the evidence," she insisted. "It's personal and so important, Donald. You have to get all the tapes and keep that one for me. Don't trust another soul with it."
"Whatever you say. I'll take care of it myself."
"Promise?"
"On my life," he assured her,
then
added, "We're going to get him."
Kyle felt Rianna relax, only then realizing how tense she'd been during the conversation. His curiosity about her just went up a couple more notches. What kind of tape had she hidden? Was it personally incriminating? Maybe an x-rated video of the two of them? The thought made his gut clench.
He supposed it could be some kind of weird or deviant game Haroldson played. Maybe he'd taped her without her knowledge, or in a compromising situation. She wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands. The idea made him furious.
His voice held a low throb of anger as he spoke to Sullivan. "We've got to go. What next?"
"Stay low and call again tomorrow about the same time. I should have good news by then."
"Is Haroldson still proclaiming that his fiancée's been kidnapped?"
"Yeah, but I didn't have to disclose Rianna's identity. Someone tipped the press off to another possibility."
"What possibility?"
"That Haroldson's fiancée wasn't kidnapped, but ran off with her lover. A much younger man."
Kyle tilted his head enough to lock gazes with Rianna. He watched her eyes darken at the suggestion, and then she lowered her lashes to hide her reaction.
The ploy amused him, easing some of the tightness in his chest. "You wouldn't have been responsible for that bit of gossip, would you?"
Sullivan's response was all innocence. "I'm just doing my part to keep my FBI buddies in
Kyle smiled and glanced at Rianna again. She looked equally pleased by Sullivan's tactics.
"Sounds like you've got everything under control. We'll get back to you tomorrow."
Rianna said goodbye and closed the phone. Then she looked up at him. "Is there someone you'd like to call?"
He shook his head, wondering if anyone aside from Sullivan worried about her. During his years at the agency, he had found it impossible to sustain close relationships, but then, he'd always been a loner.
Except for Margie. Friends who had tolerated long absences were rare, but Margie had understood and been a true friend. He'd never forgive himself for not being there when his partner needed him most. On that last fatal assignment.
All the more reason to see that Haroldson rotted in hell.
"We'd better get back to the boat," he said.
Kyle studied their surroundings as they retraced their path to the dock. When the path narrowed, Rianna took the lead. She stepped around a rock, and he accidentally bumped into her, but they quickly severed the contact
One touch was enough to stir his imagination. He'd fought to suppress the mental image of her on that chaise—her lush body glistening in the sunshine and clothed in nothing but a few narrow strips of cloth.
Her breasts had been plump, their peaks beading into fat buttons when he'd teased them with water. Her mouth, so eager and responsive. God, what a luscious mouth. He could have feasted on it for hours.
And her legs.
Kyle stared at her backside when she stepped ahead of him again. Her hips were slim but nicely rounded. She had long, well-toned legs. Great legs. He could still feel the strength of her thighs wrapped around him, and the heat of her body arching against his. He'd almost lost it completely.
He had never wanted a woman more, had never wanted to bury himself in someone and claim full possession. He wasn't the possessive type. Never had been. He'd never experienced such a fierce desire to conquer and possess. Not until this morning, and Rianna.
Need still clawed through him, but there's no way he'd act on it now. The timing was all wrong. She might have been as hot as he'd been, but she hadn't minced words when she'd wanted to shoot him down. Her panicked "no" had been as subtle as a knee to the groin.
They boarded the houseboat with no more than a passing nod to a couple of strangers. Everybody had their own agenda and nobody had the time or inclination to chat, which worked in their favor. Blending into the crowd had never been more satisfying.
"You want to take it out this time?" he asked, after making a quick security check through the houseboat.
"Sure."
Rianna preceded him into the cabin and took a seat behind the wheel. She started the engine while he untied the mooring ropes. Then she slowly steered them through the maze of docks and boat traffic until they were in the main waterway again.
"My turn to cook." He joined her in the cabin area and helped himself to another cookie. They were delicious. "What'll it be?"
"What can you cook?"
Kyle rummaged through the refrigerator. "How about some grilled pork chops and baked potatoes? I can handle that."
"Perfect."
They ate their meal a half-hour later after dropping anchor in another small cove. She complimented his cooking skills and ate everything on her plate. Both were careful not to make too much eye contact or broach sensitive subjects. Studied politeness became the rule of thumb.
The sky grew cloudy at dusk and a small shower kept them inside the cabin. Kyle watched a baseball game while Rianna curled up on the sofa with a book. He divided his attention between the TV and her, until the hunger in him reared its ugly head again.
By the time the rain stopped around
"I'm going up on deck for a while."
Rianna glanced up from her book. Then she closed it and laid it aside. "I'm getting tired, but I'd like to sit outside for a few minutes before I call it a night."
"Grab a towel for your chair. It'll be wet."
He followed her up the ladder, trying hard to ignore the gentle sway of her behind and the legs that were driving him crazy. As soon as they reached the deck, he distanced himself and flopped down in one of the lounge chairs. Rianna sat in the one she'd used earlier in the day.
A silent groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of her. She appealed to him even more than she had earlier. Her cautious reserve made her all the more alluring.
"Do you have a headache?" he asked.
Rianna glanced at him with a quizzical expression. "No, why do you ask?"
"You're rubbing the back of your neck again. I've seen you do it several times in the past few days. I thought maybe you suffer from tension headaches."
"No, I just have a sore spot on my neck."
She hesitated, making him
wonder
if she intended to explain or leave him in the dark. Then she continued.
"I had a weird little accident while I was at Gregory's estate. I'm still not sure how it happened. I guess Gregory and I bumped into each other at the bottom of the stairs. I cracked the back of my head on the corner of the newel. It bled so much that it needed stitches."
"He took you to the hospital?"
Rianna laughed softly. "When you have the kind of money and clout Gregory has, they bring the hospital to you. Some doctor friend of his rushed to the house. He administered a local anesthetic, put a couple of stitches in the back of my neck, and went on his way again. I hardly felt a thing."
"You were never unconscious? You're sure Haroldson wasn't somehow responsible?"
"At first I wondered if I'd blown my cover; and he was planning to drug me or something, but he seemed genuinely concerned. He and the doctor were very solicitous."
"Don't you need to have the stitches removed?"
"He said they'd dissolve naturally."
"And the cut is still hurting?"
"It doesn't
hurt,
it just throbs once in a while."
"Maybe it's infected.
Lake
water is full of bacteria."
"It's not that sensitive. I meant to have Paulo check it when he did my hair. I forgot, but he'd have noticed if it looked red or irritated."
"I can take a look at it in the morning if you want," Kyle offered, knowing she wasn't likely to ask.