by Debra Webb
Nicole leaned against the wall near the ladies’ room door and watched the comings and goings at the end of the hall.
When Ian stepped back into the hall, he shook his head to indicate he had found nothing. “Check the ladies’ room, just in case,” he told her.
Nicole pushed the door inward and entered the bathroom. Two empty stalls, a sink and a short bench greeted her. No window, no other avenue of escape. She rejoined Ian in the hall and reported her findings.
Ian continued down the hall and drifted into the crowd of milling shoppers. Nicole scanned every face, every backside. He had to be in here. She stopped. A man with dark hair, wearing a navy blue jacket was rifling through a rack of golf shirts, his back turned to Nicole. Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. She blocked the steady murmur of conversation around her to focus solely on her target. Slowly, not taking her eyes off the man, Nicole approached him. Just when she would have reached out to him, a hand darted past her and grabbed the man by the shoulder. Ian whirled the guy around, his free hand already gripping his well-concealed weapon.
“What the—?” The man struggled to pull free of Ian’s grip. He faltered back a step. “What’s your problem?”
Nicole wilted. It wasn’t him. Ian looked to her for confirmation. Nicole shook her head.
“Sorry,” Ian offered. “I thought you were someone else.”
The man muttered something under his breath and left the shop as fast as he could.
“You’re sure?” Ian asked.
Nicole nodded. Though she hadn’t actually seen the face of the man on the sidewalk, something in his manner spoke to her “The way this guy carried himself was wrong,” she explained. Where could the man she had seen have gone?
Nicole followed Ian through the rest of the shop, but there was no one else with dark hair and wearing a solid-colored navy blue jacket. Doubt set in. Nicole began to wonder if she could have imagined the man. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe she wanted this to be over so badly that she was conjuring up people who weren’t there.
“If he was here, he’s gone now,” Ian said quietly. “We should be going.”
If.
Nicole couldn’t blame Ian for not believing her. She wasn’t sure if she even believed herself anymore. As they walked back to the SUV, Nicole searched the pedestrians for any sign of a navy blue jacket. Ian appeared watchful as well. Still nothing. Nicole reached for the handle on the passenger-side door of their vehicle, but a paper fluttering beneath the windshield wiper caught her attention. A sales flyer. Henrietta’s Florist and Gifts. Nicole frowned as she yanked the unwanted document free of the wiper. She tossed her bag and the flyer into the vehicle and climbed into her seat. Her temples pounded with frustration. He had to know they were here. She and Ian had left a trail a mile wide. He had to have followed.
Nicole stared out the window as Ian cruised down the street. In less than five minutes they had left the town behind and were halfway up the mountain road leading to George’s private getaway. Images flickered in front of Nicole’s eyes. The destruction in Landon’s office. His bereaved widow weeping over his closed coffin at the cemetery. The absolute devastation at Daniels’s house. The mysterious note from Daniels after his death. Her rental car exploding…the bullet crashing through the truck window and hitting Ian…her apartment going up in flames.
Nicole closed her eyes and forced the painful memories away. She summoned the figure she had seen for those few short seconds. She replayed the way he had moved. Nicole released a disgusted breath. Nothing. It was his body language that spoke to her and her mind just couldn’t play it back precisely enough at the moment to capture the quality that she had recognized.
“Stop thinking about it, Nicole.”
Ian’s silky voice penetrated the layers of frustration shrouding her. She looked at him for a full minute before she replied. Did he have any idea how deeply she responded to the mere sound of his voice? “It was him,” she murmured.
Ian regarded her briefly, those assessing gray eyes analyzing far too much and far too deeply for Nicole’s comfort. “He’ll be back,” he assured her.
Nicole propped her elbow on the door and massaged her aching forehead. Yeah, he would be back. He wanted Solomon. And the only way he could get to Solomon was through Nicole.
Something crinkled beneath Nicole’s boot when she shifted in her seat. The forgotten flyer had fallen onto the floor. Annoyed, she glared at the offending document and kicked it aside. Bold, bloodred letters drew her gaze back when she would have looked away.
I’m waiting for you, Nicole.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the wrinkled paper. She read it again when she had it in her hand. On the backside of the florist’s advertisement, large printed letters spelled out the words. Her heart froze in her chest. Straining for a calm she didn’t feel, Nicole forced herself to analyze the evidence she held. Identifying the block-style printing would be impossible even if they had a clue as to where to begin a comparison. Since there was no way to know how many people had handled the flyer, fingerprints would prove useless.
I’m waiting for you, Nicole.
It was a warning, plain and simple. He wanted her, Nicole knew. But he was waiting. Until she was alone. The thought shook her. Nicole glanced at the driver. Her heart kicked back into that rapid staccato.
Just her. He was waiting for her to be alone. And then he would make a move. Not before.
“What’s that?”
Nicole jerked to attention. Ian had already parked in the driveway in front of George’s cabin. She swallowed. “A message.” Nicole handed the paper to Ian. “It was on the windshield after we came out of the sports shop. I thought it was just a local advertisement.”
Ian studied the document for a time, then lifted his gaze to her. “He was watching us.”
Nicole nodded.
“Good.” Ian laid the paper on the console. “Lock the doors. Don’t get out until I tell you it’s safe to come inside. If anyone approaches this vehicle, drive away.” Ian opened his door and stepped out, then turned back to Nicole. “Move over here.” He indicated the driver’s seat, that silvery gaze intent and determined. “Drive away if you hear or see anything suspicious. Use the cell phone to call for help.”
Nicole choked out a laugh. “Like hell.”
“Do it, Nicole,” he commanded harshly.
“All right,” she relented, though there was no way she would ever drive away leaving Ian behind.
Ian pressed the lock button and closed the door. Nicole chewed on her lower lip as she watched him move cautiously around the cabin, his weapon readied. She held her breath until he appeared again from the other side. He studied the ground, and each window in the cabin as he passed it. He was looking for tracks or any other signs of entry, she knew. He crossed the porch and unlocked the door. Nicole’s breath went still in her lungs as he disappeared once more, this time inside. Her gaze continuously swept the area around the cabin and the vehicle in which she sat, always moving back to the door, watching for Ian.
“This is nuts,” Nicole muttered under her breath. She should be in there with Ian. Another minute ticked by. Making up her mind and steeling her resolve, Nicole withdrew her Beretta and opened the vehicle door. She was no untrained civilian. She knew the drill. Moving as swiftly and soundlessly as possible, Nicole stole across the yard. When she reached the porch steps, she relaxed a bit. Five seconds later she was at the door. Gripping the nine-millimeter with both hands she stepped across the threshold. She surveyed the room from left to right and back.
No Ian.
Adrenaline surged, stinging through her veins. Nicole stepped cautiously toward the kitchen, her gazed roved from side to side. She made a slow turn in the middle of the room to check the front door and the porch beyond it one more time.
“I told you to stay in the truck.”
Nicole whipped toward the kitchen door. Ian loomed in the seemingly small opening, his expression fierce. Nicole
relaxed her fire-ready stance. “I got lonely,” she retorted as she tucked her weapon away.
After glaring at her a moment longer, Ian scanned the room. “I don’t think anyone has been here.”
“But he definitely knows we’re here,” Nicole countered.
“He knows.”
She pushed a handful of hair over her shoulder. “He wants me alone,” she remarked more to herself than to Ian.
Ian shot her a pointed look. “That’s not going to happen,” he said, a warning, not a reassurance.
Nicole moistened her lips. “What if he won’t show with you hanging around?”
Ian cocked his head in that arrogant manner of his. “Then he won’t show.”
“So the point of this entire exercise is?” she demanded, her temper flaring as rapidly as her impatience.
Ian gazed steadily at her. “To keep you and Solomon alive.”
“Gosh, I guess I forgot about that.” Nicole pivoted and stormed toward the door.
Ian snagged her arm before she took two steps. “Think, Nicole,” he urged softly. “When he gets desperate enough, then he’ll come, despite my presence. He’ll re-think his approach and make a move.”
Nicole tried to shrug his hand off. “We need to unload the supplies.”
Several more seconds passed before Ian released her. Without another word, he followed Nicole to the SUV. He unlocked and lifted the rear hatch, then picked up the cooler while Nicole collected the two small bags from the back seat. Her mind raced with possibilities. She searched her memory for something, anything that would trigger that feeling of recognition again.
Nothing came.
Nicole stole a glance at Ian as they carried the supplies into the cabin. She closed and locked the door, then joined him in the kitchen. Ian was right, she supposed. The guy eventually would make a move. He had to if he wanted Solomon. The problem was, how long would he wait? And how long would she and Ian survive living under the same small roof without making another heart-damaging mistake?
As if to validate her point, Nicole found herself suddenly and unavoidably mesmerized by Ian’s precise, graceful movements. He reached to put a can of soup in the cupboard, placing it exactly in line with the other canned goods, the label facing outward. His lean, muscled frame made her want to feel his weight against her. He reached into the next bag and, one by one, removed the apples and oranges Nicole had selected in the market. Those long, artist’s fingers closed around each fresh piece of fruit in a near-caressing manner.
Ian paused abruptly, a shiny red apple still in his hand. Seemingly in slow motion, he turned to find Nicole watching him so intently. The look that passed between them said more than any words could have. He smiled then, and brought that succulent piece of fruit to his full, firm mouth and took a bite, his eyes never leaving Nicole’s. He chewed slowly, his lips moist with the luscious juice of the fresh fruit. And nothing would have pleased Nicole more than to lick that sweet stuff from those sensual lips.
Deep, deep inside Nicole, where nothing or no one else could touch her, something moved, and a kind of yearning she had never before experienced awoke and roared like a hungry beast. The need grew until her every sensory perception was focused inward to that one mushrooming sensation.
She would never survive another forty-eight hours alone with this man. He meant entirely too much to her.
Nicole needed a plan.
An escape plan.
Chapter Eight
By late afternoon on Sunday, Nicole felt ready to explode. Furious with herself as much as with Ian for feeling so helpless, she reached for the hand towel on the kitchen counter at the same time as he did. They glanced at each other briefly, but not briefly enough. Electricity zinged between them. Ian acquiesced with a barely perceptible nod, abandoning the towel to Nicole then turning his attention to the salad he was preparing. His long fingers poised on the tomato as he diced it with the skill of a master chef. Nicole dutifully dried the just-washed utensils, undeniably aware of Ian’s every move. Disgusted, she tossed the towel aside and glanced at the battery-operated clock on the wall. Nicole quickly performed her second mental calculation of the day. Forty-three hours, twenty-seven minutes together, alone, in this growing-smaller-by-the-moment cabin. She bit back the urge to scream or break something.
The tension in the cubicle-sized kitchen was thick enough to cut with the knife Ian was currently using to chop the bell pepper. Taking a deep breath, Nicole decided to check on the pasta and sauce. Ian had insisted that, this being a holiday weekend, they should have some sort of celebratory meal. Nicole started toward the stove, Ian turned in the direction of the sink and she barreled smack into his mile-wide chest.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Nicole jumped back, holding her palms out to ward off any further apology or moves in her direction. “It’s fine.”
While he watched contritely, Nicole stepped around him, maintaining a safe distance between their bodies. She stirred the pasta, then the sauce, staring into the thick, red concoction as if it held the answers to all her problems.
“Almost done, don’t you think?”
Startled, Nicole jerked away from the sound of Ian’s silky voice. Standing entirely too close to her for comfort, he regarded her for a long moment. Nicole’s heart flip-flopped hard beneath her sternum. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning, and the day’s beard growth only intensified his sexy aura. He looked dark and dangerous and absolutely delicious.
“Why are you so jumpy, Nicole?”
Nicole set the wooden spoon aside and placed the lid on the sauce. Ian didn’t move, he hovered over her as if she needed his full attention. She pushed her suddenly damp palms over her jean-clad hips and lifted her chin defiantly. She glared at Ian to produce the full effect.
“I’m not jumpy,” she snapped. “I’m just tired of bumping into you that’s all.” She folded her arms over her middle and retreated a step. “You’re crowding me, Ian. Every time I turn around you’re there.”
He shrugged vaguely, his gaze carefully controlled. “It’s difficult to stay out of each other’s way in such close quarters,” he said so calmly, so reasonably she wanted to slap him to see if his expression would change.
Irritation, desperation and a dozen other emotions whirled inside her. She had to get out of here. No one was coming as long as Ian shadowed her every move like this. Nicole had to find a way to ditch him. She would never get Landon’s and Daniels’s killer otherwise. The note had been specific. He had been waiting for her. Sure, he might eventually show with Ian here, as Ian had suggested, but Nicole was out of time. She could not tolerate another hour alone with Ian. And even if she could, staying only put Ian at risk.
Decision made, she took another step back, edging toward the kitchen door. “I think I’ll take a bath,” she announced out of the blue.
Ian frowned. “What about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.” She gave him her back. “Don’t wait for me,” she added as she stalked toward the bathroom. Once inside, she closed the door and pressed her forehead against it. God, she needed her head examined. She knew her time with Ian was only temporary. She knew that he would only break her heart…just like last time. Though last time hadn’t really been his fault. Duty bound or not, she had no one else to blame but herself for that one. But how could she still want him so very desperately? How could she long for him with such need that simply looking at him propelled her toward orgasm? Because she admired and respected everything about him, she admitted. Ian was the one man who drew her on every conscious level. Could she risk his being in any further danger?
Nicole had to find a way to slip away from him. She had tried leaving late last night while Ian was sleeping, but he had awakened instantly the moment she rose from the bed. Nicole had pretended she needed to use the bathroom. He had waited until she was safely back into bed before relaxing again. Ian was too smart to fool that easily, too fast to outrun, and too damned good to trap.
Unless…
A wide smile suddenly spread across Nicole’s face. Ian wasn’t immune to the physical attraction between them. He felt it too. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Nicole moistened her lips and tried to recall the array of items George had stashed under the bed. She made a mental list of the erotic and kinky toys available. The handcuffs and body oil would do very nicely, she decided with a little too much glee.
Acting quickly before she lost her nerve, Nicole knelt in front of the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink. She dug through the items stored there until she found what she was looking for, a half-dozen bath scents. Ian loved apples. She picked up the one called Enchanted Apple and closed the cabinet doors. Nicole adjusted the tap until the water flowing into the tub was to her liking, then she added the bubble bath. She closed her eyes and inhaled the steamy scent. Good enough to eat, she thought with a wicked grin.
Oh yes, this would do nicely.
In record time Nicole stripped off her clothes and dropped them onto the floor, ensuring that her panties and bra lay atop the pile. She pinned her hair up and reached for a towel. On second thought, she opted to forego the towel. That would be her excuse. Nicole stepped gingerly into the welcoming warmth of the softly scented water. She slowly sank beneath its surface with a moan of pure pleasure.
Relax, Nicole, she ordered. For it will take every ounce of willpower and persuasion you have to do what has to be done.
Ian would never know what hit him.
IAN GLANCED at the still-closed bathroom door and frowned. Why had Nicole been in there so long? The salad was in the fridge, the bread, pasta and sauce in the oven keeping warm, and the wine, open and ready to serve, stood on the table. The only holdup was Nicole. She had said not to wait, but Ian waited anyway. He massaged his unshaven chin and considered her behavior since their arrival here, especially the last twenty-four hours. Maybe the note had shaken her more deeply than he had first thought. She was certainly jumpy enough. Then, maybe it was simply a matter of cabin fever.
