Extreme Measures

by Brenda Harlen

  But the demands of her body were much stronger and more insistent than any reservations in her head. And, oh, it felt so good to be in his arms. To be kissed and cuddled as if he really cared about her. As if she mattered.

  "Mommy?"

  Carly's soft inquiry sounded like an explosion in the silence of the room. Nikki would have leaped out of Colin's arms if he hadn't been holding her so tightly.

  He released her slowly, and Nikki turned to her daughter. "Did you need something, honey?"

  Carly nodded, yawning. "A drink of water. Please."

  Nikki was conscious of Colin's eyes on her as she turned to the cupboard to find a plastic cup, then filled it with cold water from the tap.

  "Why were you kissing Uncle Colin?" Carly asked.

  Nikki cast a quick glance at Colin, who grinned at her. Damn him! As if she wasn't confused enough about their relationship, now she had to make explanations to her daughter.

  Their daughter.

  She handed Carly the cup, hoped Colin couldn't see that her hand wasn't quite steady. "Um … well, because that's what grown-ups do sometimes—"

  "You don't kiss Uncle Shaun like that," Carly interrupted.

  Nikki's face flamed; Colin's grin widened.

  "Drink your water," Nikki instructed.

  Carly obediently put the cup to her lips and sipped.

  "Are you going to kiss again?" Carly asked, her eyes wide as she glanced from her mother to Colin and back again.

  "No," Nikki responded.

  "Definitely," Colin said at the same time.

  Carly smiled, as if she understood.

  "You're supposed to be in bed, Carly," Nikki said sternly.

  "Why aren't you and Uncle Colin in bed?" Carly asked.

  Nikki knew Carly didn't mean together, but that was the image that came to mind. Naked, sweaty, their limbs entwined. "Uncle Colin was just going to bed—going home," she amended quickly.

  "O—kay." Carly gave a long-suffering sigh, took another sip of water and handed her cup back to her mother.

  "Why aren't we in bed?" Colin asked, after Carly had left the room.

  "Go home, Colin."

  He grinned again. "I'd rather go to bed." She couldn't prevent the smile that tugged at her lips. He was nothing if not persistent, and it was somewhat flattering to know that he still wanted her. Even though she knew nothing would come of it. She couldn't let it. Having sex with Colin wouldn't solve anything, and it would only make her want things she knew she couldn't have.

  "Good night, Colin," she said pointedly. He touched his lips to hers in a brief but potent kiss. "Sweet dreams, Nicole."

  Chapter 7

  The melodic chime echoed in the empty room. He rose from his sleeping bag, rolled the kinks out of his shoulders. He hadn't been sleeping; he was too edgy to sleep.

  The cutesy tone sounded again, and he reached for the cell. He could have changed the signal, but had opted not to because it had so clearly suited the perky woman from whom he'd liberated the device a couple of weeks earlier. She, too, had been cute, chirpy, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was rifling through her knapsack as he chatted her up on the commuter train.

  He wasn't a thief, he was a scientist, but he didn't have a cell phone of his own. He didn't believe in owning anything that could be traced back to him, and he didn't trust that the transmissions were secure. But he appreciated the advantages of technology and took full advantage whenever it suited his purposes. For this assignment, the phone suited his purposes.

  He connected the call before the third ring was complete, anticipation shooting through his veins like a potent injection of speed. Of course, he hadn't done drugs since college. His work gave him a thrill that surpassed any artificially induced high. His work also required a clear and focused mind. The slightest distraction or inattention could be deadly.

  He put the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

  "You screwed up, Boomer."

  He recognized Parnell's voice. It was the call he'd been waiting for, although the words weren't at all what he'd expected. Nor was Boomer—not his real name, of course—pleased with the accusation. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about the fact that you failed to eliminate the target—again." His client seethed with frustration.

  "I didn't screw up. I followed through exactly as we discussed." He'd carefully positioned the bomb between the top of the mattress and the headboard. Any weight on the bed would tip the device, causing the mercury to shift and complete the trigger circuit, thus detonating the bomb. And it had worked, dammit. He'd stuck around the hotel long enough to be sure of that fact.

  "Except that you set it up in the wrong room."

  "It wasn't the wrong room," he insisted. He'd tapped into the hotel computer personally to confirm the details of the reservation.

  But the first hint of doubt started to seep into his mind. If he hadn't made a mistake, what was the reason for this phone call? Was Parnell trying to scam him—to hold out on the final payoff? Or did he have a valid reason to claim that the terms of the contract had not been fulfilled?

  "The bombing was the lead story on the Baltimore news," Parnell explained. "And the victims were identified as Gordon Reynolds, an assistant manager of the hotel, and Doreen Carr, one of the front desk clerks."

  Boomer swore viciously, furiously.

  "That was my reaction exactly," his client agreed.

  "It was MacIver's room," Boomer insisted.

  "But MacIver wasn't in it."

  "Do you think the room was a decoy?"

  "It worked, didn't it?"

  Damn. "What do you want me to do now?"

  "Find him and finish the job."

  "How am I supposed to find him?" Boomer demanded. He'd followed MacIver's trail from Texas, and that trail had ended in Baltimore.

  "That's not my problem, it's yours."

  "I need more money."

  "You'll get the rest as we agreed—when the job is done."

  "I need cash for more supplies," he argued. "It's not like I can pick up C-4 at the local Wal-Mart and charge it to my Visa."

  "Why the hell didn't you take what you needed with you?"

  "Because the FAA generally frowns upon passengers carrying explosive materials onboard an aircraft."

  The client swore, then finally said, "Find MacIver, and I'll find a way to wire the money."

  "How was your first week?" Nikki asked Colin when she got home from the clinic Friday afternoon. He was sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs in the backyard, his long legs stretched out in front of him, watching Carly jump around the sprinkler he'd set up to combat the early summer heat wave.

  Nikki stopped several feet away from him, all too aware of the way her pulse jolted when he was near. She couldn't risk a repeat of what had happened in her kitchen the day he'd moved in.

  She'd avoided him as much as possible throughout the week, although Carly was always full of stories about "Uncle Colin" and how they'd spent their time together during the day. As a result of these conversations with her daughter, Nikki had to admit that Colin seemed to be handling his role as caregiver with little difficulty. But she still wasn't convinced he intended to follow through with it for the rest of the summer.

  Colin gave a short laugh in response to her question. "Keeping up with Carly isn't easy," he admitted. "But I can't remember when I've had more fun."

  She noted the smile that touched the corners of his mouth as he watched their daughter twirl in the water. He seemed as enthralled with Carly as she was with her current activity.

  "Then you might be convinced to put in a few extra hours on the job?" Nikki inquired hesitantly.

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow night. I know it's short notice, and I know it's Saturday night, but I have an obligation that I can't get out of and Arden has other plans and—"

  "Okay," Colin said, loudly enough to interrupt her verbal meandering.

  "Oh." She hadn't expected him to a
cquiesce so easily. "Thank you."

  "What is the 'obligation'?" he asked.

  She ventured closer, perched on the edge of another chair. "The annual fund-raising dinner for the clinic."

  "Are you going alone?"

  Nikki averted her eyes. "No."

  "So I'm going to stay with our daughter while you're out with another man?" he asked.

  She picked up the can of ginger ale with the straw in it and took a sip. She grimaced as she swallowed the warm soda. "I'm really out of options," she admitted.

  "Then if I were unavailable, you wouldn't be able to go," he mused aloud.

  Nikki's eyes narrowed as she set the can back on the table. "I thought you might like to spend the time with Carly."

  "Relax, Nikki. I said I'd stay with her, and I will. What time is your date tomorrow night?"

  "Seven-thirty."

  "I'll be here," he said.

  Colin was at Nikki's door by seven o'clock the following evening. He knew he was early, but he saw no point in hanging around his apartment to watch the minutes tick away. Arden let him inside on her way out, explaining that Nikki was in the shower and Carly was drawing pictures in the living room.

  Colin followed the sound of the television and sat down on the sofa beside where his daughter was crouched on the floor. She was focused intently on her task, her brow furrowed with determination, a green marker clutched in her little fist. She added eyes, a nose, and a mouth to the face of a stick figure she'd drawn and carefully put the cap back on the marker before picking up another color.

  "Can you make a dog, Uncle Colin?" she asked.

  He took the blue marker she offered. "What kind of dog?"

  "A blue one," she said.

  He smiled. "A big one or a little one?"

  She seemed to consider for a minute. "Big. But littler than me."

  "Okay." He studied the picture, pointed to the figure she'd just finished drawing. "Is that you?"

  Carly nodded.

  He put the marker to paper and attempted to sketch something that looked canine in nature.

  A few minutes later, Carly giggled at the result. "That looks like a frog."

  Colin scowled. It did look like a frog.

  "Didn't you say frog?" he asked, trying to disguise his lack of artistic talent as a misunderstanding.

  She giggled again. "I said dog."

  "Oh, well." He drew a longer tail. "There you go—now it's a dog."

  Carly was still giggling when Nikki came down the stairs. She stopped short when she spotted Colin sitting on the sofa beside their daughter.

  "I … didn't realize you were here. Already." She tugged on the lapels of her short silky robe.

  Colin let his eyes roam over her boldly, appreciatively. Her hair was secured on top of her head with some kind of clip, but several strands had escaped to frame a face that was scrubbed free of makeup. Her skin was creamy and, he knew from experience, softer than the silk of the robe that covered her from shoulder to mid-thigh. The thin material clung to the gentle swell of her breasts and, as his attention lingered there, her nipples pebbled, straining against the fabric barrier. He lowered his eyes to the belt knotted at her slender waist, lower still to the curve of her hip, the hem of the robe, the smooth, endlessly long legs, and finally to toenails that were painted a vibrant shade of pink.

  "Mommy, can you make a dog?"

  Carly's request mobilized Nikki, and she moved farther into the room, away from him. "Okay." She flicked a hesitant glance at Colin, then knelt on the carpet beside her daughter.

  "Uncle Colin tried, but he doesn't draw good," Carly told her.

  "I'm an athlete, not an artist." He felt compelled to point out this fact in his own defense.

  Nikki looked down at the drawing, the beginnings of a smile twitching at her lips. "It looks like a frog with a tail."

  Carly giggled. "You draw, Mommy. Please."

  Nikki took the marker and quickly outlined an animal that at least resembled a dog. Colin didn't mind being shown up. In fact, he wished Carly would ask Nikki to draw something else, because the front of her robe had gaped open as she'd leaned over the table, exposing the soft swell of one rounded breast to his avid gaze.

  As if she could read his thoughts, Nikki straightened and tugged on her robe again. She glared at him, and he grinned.

  "I'm going to get dressed," she said.

  "Need any help?" he asked.

  "Just keep Carly out of trouble."

  He watched her walk out of the room, enjoying the subtle sway of her hips, the flex of the muscles in her calves, the trailing scent she left behind. The scent that would be forever linked in his mind with Nicole.

  "Do you like kissing my mommy?" Carly asked nonchalantly.

  She was working on her picture again, drawing a tall stick figure beside the dog Nikki had penned. He cleared his throat, considered an evasive response before settling upon the truth. "Yes, I do."

  "I've never seen her kiss anyone before," Carly confided.

  "Really?"

  "She needs to get out more."

  What kind of statement was that for a four-and-a-half-year-old to be making? "Why do you say that?"

  "It's what Auntie Arden tells her," she replied matter-of-factly.

  "Oh." He ignored the reprimand from his conscience that disapproved of pumping his child for information about her mother.

  "She's still in love with my daddy," Carly told him.

  He sucked in a breath. "Is that something else Auntie Arden said?"

  It was only one question, he promised himself. He wasn't interrogating the child, just filing away the information she willingly provided.

  Carly nodded and uncapped a green marker, then began coloring the bottom part of the page.

  "What did your mommy say about it?"

  Okay, two questions. That still didn't make it an interrogation.

  "She said Auntie Arden was wrong. If you like kissing my mommy you could get married and then you could be my daddy."

  Colin didn't know if he should be pleased that she'd want him to be her father, or disappointed that it would be so easy for Nikki to find a man—any man—to be a father to his daughter. He was glad that Carly was so obviously well-adjusted. He didn't want her pining away for a father who had never been there for her. But, dammit, he was her father, and he didn't want to be replaced by anyone.

  Carly drew a yellow circle at the top of the page, then several straight lines extending from the circle.

  "There." She capped her marker just as Nikki came back into the room.

  "Very nice," Colin said.

  Carly skipped out of the room with her picture in hand, and his focus shifted to Nikki. "Very, very nice."

  She was wearing a silver-colored sheath dress with skinny straps—and just looking at her had his mouth going dry. The fabric was light and clingy and shimmered as she moved. The neckline was square and the skirt fell almost to her ankles.

  Sexy, he thought approvingly—of course, Nikki would look sexy in a tablecloth—but not too revealing. Then she turned around, and his jaw dropped open.

  The back of the dress was open to the waist except for the tiny straps that crossed over her shoulder blades, and the long skirt was slit from the hem up past her knees.

  She opened the closet door and rummaged around inside. A few seconds later, she closed the door and turned, one strappy silver-colored sandal with a neck-breaking heel dangling from her fingertips.

  He managed to snap his jaw shut. "Is that…" He cleared his throat. "Is that what you're wearing tonight?"

  She shot him an annoyed look. "No, this is my shoe-hunting dress. Once I locate the appropriate footwear, I'll change my outfit."

  He chose to ignore her sarcasm. "Don't you think it's a little … um … revealing?"

  He'd never thought that a woman's back was a particularly sexy part of the body, but Nikki's was truly spectacular. He didn't care to have it bared for the leering eyes of every man at this—whateve
r this thing was she was going to tonight.

  "No."

  He scowled, not even sure he remembered the question she was responding to. "Will there be dancing tonight?"

  Nikki's brow furrowed. "Probably."

  "Slow dancing?"

  She stopped on her way back to the stairs and blew out an exasperated breath. "I didn't realize you required a detailed itinerary of the evening's events."

  "I didn't realize you'd be wearing something that bares more skin than it covers," he retorted.

  She fisted her free hand on her hip, and the action drew the shimmering material tighter across her breasts. "How I dress is none of your business."

  "Like hell it isn't," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.

  Her other hand still held one shoe, and it was all too easy to imagine her feet tucked into the pair of sexy sandals. Unsatisfied with the five-foot-five-inch frame nature had given her, Nikki had always exhibited a fondness for heels. Colin might have thought everything about her was perfect, but he could still appreciate the way a nice pair of shoes highlighted those shapely legs.

  He forced his attention from the sandals back to her dress. "I'm just suggesting that you might want to wear something a little warmer." Something that covered her from neck to ankles. "It's a little chilly tonight."

  "It's eighty degrees outside," she reminded him.

  "But you'll be inside, where it's air-conditioned." Okay, maybe he should just shut up before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

  She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head dismissively. "Can I go look for my other shoe?"

  "Sure. Whatever." If she wasn't going to change her outfit, he was going to have a little chat with her date before they left for the evening.

  As Nikki walked away, Colin was left alone to wonder how the hell he'd ever allowed himself to be talked into this situation. He must have been out of his mind to agree to spend the evening with Carly so that Nikki could go out with another man. Temporary insanity was the only plausible explanation.

  A few minutes later, Nikki was back and digging through the closet again. She picked up and tossed aside one shoe after the other.

  "Haven't you looked in there already?" Colin asked.