Declan

by Kate Hoffmann

  This was the closest he’d come to finding Eden Ross but once again, she’d slipped through his fingers. Still, he knew she was close by and with a little luck, she’d decide to come home on her own. Chasing silly little socialites really wasn’t his forte. And the socialite in question had brought her problems on herself, choosing to appear in a naughty sex tape that just happened to make it on to the Internet.

  Trevor Ross was his most important client, so Dec had to make an extraordinary effort. But Ross wouldn’t be happy at the latest news, especially since Eden had been seen in Dec’s backyard. He flipped on the radio and listened distractedly as he steered the car over the Newport Bridge.

  “You’re tuned to the Ross Radio Network. It’s Saturday night, and this is Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine.” Dec frowned, reaching out to pop a CD into the player, but the silken tones of the show’s hostess kept him listening a few moments longer.

  “We’re still on the air with Carl from Los Angeles, California. Carl is wondering how he might spice up his sex life. My advice for you, Carl, is to spend some time focusing on your wife’s needs. The best way to increase her desire is to make her feel like she’s the only lover you could ever want. Invest in her orgasms. Make sure they’re the best they can be. Put aside your own desires until you’re certain all of her needs are being met.”

  Dec found himself captivated by her voice, the way words dripped off her tongue like honey. A shiver skittered down his spine and he groaned. He didn’t need to be listening to this, especially considering his determination to control his sexual urges, at least for the next nine weeks.

  But he continued to listen as Dr. Devine discussed the physiology of the female orgasm, the benefits of oral sex and battery-operated substitutes, and the top five female sexual fantasies. And when Dec finally reached the Sandpiper Motel, he found himself strangely aroused by all the frank talk. With a soft curse, he flipped the radio off and stepped out of the car.

  “A woman with a voice like that should not be allowed to talk about sex,” he murmured as he walked over to the police cruiser. “How can she expect anyone to pay attention to what she’s saying? She’d be better off at 1-900-talk dirty to me.”

  For all he knew, Dr. Lillian Devine was probably some frumpy fifty-year-old Ph.D Just the thought was like a bucket of ice water tossed down his pants.

  But if she were beautiful and smart, then that would be one of his top five fantasies. She wouldn’t even have to be drop-dead gorgeous. Pretty would do, even cute. But smart and sexy was an irresistible combination, one he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. And if the woman could talk dirty to him, he’d be in heaven. Unfortunately, heaven was off-limits for the next nine weeks.

  Delaney and Wilson, the two officers from the Bonnett Harbor police department, stood next to a car parked across the road from the Sandpiper. Dec approached and Delaney gave him a wave of recognition. “Sally said you wanted to talk to these guys.”

  Dec nodded. “Are you sure it was Eden Ross?”

  “They were,” Wilson said, nodding to the two men sitting in the backseat of the police cruiser. “And we ran the plate on the Mercedes parked in the lot. It’s registered to Trevor Ross. She must have taken the keys with her. They weren’t left in the room.”

  Shaking his head, Dec ran his hand through his hair. “I guess you guys ought to be happy this girl doesn’t take up a life of crime. She is one slippery customer.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Trevor Ross’s private number. “Mr. Ross, Declan Quinn here. I’ve got some news on your daughter. It seems she did stop by your Newport house just long enough to steal one of your cars.”

  Dec heard a curse on the other end of the line. “I want you to bring her and the car back to the house tonight,” Ross shouted.

  “I’m afraid she slipped by us,” Dec said. “But, from what I can see, she’s safe.”

  “Fine. Hell, I’m tired of wasting your time and my money trying to find her,” Ross said. “Besides, I have another case I need you to focus on. And it will require your complete attention. Have you ever heard of Dr. Lillian Devine?”

  Dec reached into his jacket to pull out his Blackberry, surprised that Ross would bring up the name. “I have,” he said. “I just heard her earlier on the radio.”

  “Her real name is Rachel Merrill and she’s one of our most valuable on-air talents,” Ross explained. “An important part of our syndication package. I’ve had my security guys watching over her but she refuses to let them get too close. I don’t think she believes the threat is that serious. Now it is.”

  “How serious?” Dec asked.

  “We had a letter delivered to the station tonight that was a blatant death threat. I need you to meet me in my office tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have my guys brief you. And then I want you to convince her that a 24-hour-a-day bodyguard is in her best interest.”

  “How do you expect me to convince her of that?” Dec asked.

  “You’re a charming guy. You figure it out. I want you on her until this nutcase is caught.”

  Dec was paid a healthy retainer to be at Ross’s disposal, whenever a security concern came up. He listened as Ross gave him more details, putting the afternoon appointment into the PDA along with other relevant information. In truth, Dec had to breathe a silent sigh of relief that he could leave the search for Trevor’s wild daughter to others. He hadn’t spent four years in naval intelligence and another three building up Quinn Security and Investigations to spend his valuable time chasing silly heiresses around the countryside.

  RACHEL MERRILL SLID HER KEY card into the garage door opener then slowly pulled her SUV ahead as the doors to the underground garage opened. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure that no one slipped into the garage in the dark. As she looked back, she saw her security detail pull up to the curb and wait. She let out a tightly held breath once the garage door was closed.

  “Safe,” she murmured to herself. She was on her own now and the detail would be there in the morning to follow her during her daily routine. Rachel sighed. Just having security following her was enough to put her in a constant state of anxiety. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t uneasy…watchful.

  A few months ago, the thought of having a stalker was inconceivable. And at first, she’d brushed off the letters, thinking them to have been sent by an overzealous fan. But then the notes had begun to arrive with more frequency, messages left for her at the station at least two or three times a week. And when she found a letter at her home, she was forced to admit that her safety might just be in danger.

  Her boss, Trevor Ross, had insisted she leave her cozy colonial in the College Hill section of Providence and move into a secure high-rise downtown. So Rachel had agreed, and a month ago, she’d packed her bags and headed to safer ground. Ross had given her a new SUV to drive, the tinted windows providing additional anonymity, and had also assigned her a security detail from his corporate force.

  Rachel stopped at the valet booth near the elevators and waited for a few minutes, then decided to park the car herself. When she’d pulled the SUV into her parking spot, she turned off the ignition, then rummaged through her purse for her pepper spray. Though she felt relatively safe with the new location, the 24-hour parking valet, and the lobby security, she took her own precautions.

  Rachel still found it odd that she’d attract the attention of a stalker. She’d never considered herself a celebrity. Her radio show, Simply Sex with Dr. Lillian Devine, could at times be controversial, inviting responses from all kinds of weirdos, but a stalker? Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Normal, handsome, successful men hadn’t been beating down her door. Why not a strange, obsessive stranger instead?

  She’d taken her radio name, Dr. Lillian Devine, to protect her reputation as an academic, but it also served another purpose-protecting her privacy. Now, whoever was stalking her probably knew that Rachel Merrill, Ph. D and associate professor of anthropology a
t Providence University, and Dr. Lillian Devine, radio sex therapist, were one and the same.

  She’d always known there was risk that her double life might be revealed. And when Trevor Ross had offered her a syndicated radio show, she’d initially refused. But the money had been too good to pass up. Her life as Lillian Devine could fund more research for Dr. Rachel Merrill, and provide her some of the comforts that a college professor’s salary couldn’t.

  So, every weekend, on Saturday and Sunday night between ten p.m. and one a.m., she hosted a nationally syndicated call-in show and answered any question posed regarding sexual behaviors, fetishes, obsessions, addictions and frustrations. Though she possessed a Ph.D in psychology, Rachel’s primary focus had always been more in tune with biology or anthropology-the study of human sexual behaviors. As an expert, she provided her listeners with keen insight into their problems. Last ratings period, her show had become the number four rated syndicated radio show nationwide, a jump of seven spots from the previous quarter.

  But now, that popularity came with a price that far outweighed the benefit. She was living like a hunted animal, always looking over her shoulder, frightened of what or who might be waiting in the dark. The police were trying to find the stalker, but they had few leads.

  Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door of the SUV and jumped out. As she walked toward the elevator, she turned back to set the alarm on the truck. It was then that she noticed the shadowy figure approaching from her right.

  “Miss Merrill?”

  Rachel picked up her pace and when she reached the elevator, frantically pushed the button again and again, hoping that the door would open and she could escape. She wanted to scream, but her adrenaline was pumping so hard, her throat seemed to close. As the stalker got closer, she knew a decision was at hand. Spinning around, she aimed her pepper spray at his head and pushed the nozzle.

  Funny enough, her first reaction to his face wasn’t fear. Instead, she was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Stalkers weren’t supposed to be handsome. Or well-dressed. He held out his hand, as if to stop her, but a wave of panic suddenly overwhelmed her.

  He saw the spray coming and he raised his hand just in time to block the stream. But the pepper spray had the desired effect. Just the smell made him cough and sputter and his eyes began to water. Cursing, he bent over at the waist, tugging his jacket up over his mouth and nose.

  The bell for the elevator door sounded and Rachel dropped the pepper spray and rushed inside. Just as the door closed, he called her name again. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone.”

  “I work for Trevor Ross,” the man shouted, adding a string of curses to the statement. “He sent me.”

  The door shut and the elevator began to silently rise. Rachel’s pulse pounded in her ears and her breath came in quick gasps, but she felt as if she were outside her body. Slowly, her mind began to work again and confusion replaced the panic that had overwhelmed her.

  He had been dressed much nicer than the average stalker, although she didn’t know exactly what the fashionable stalker wore these days. She imagined a hooded sweatshirt and grubby clothes, not a tailored sport jacket and finely pressed trousers. And his dark hair wasn’t shaggy and unkempt but neatly trimmed.

  If Trevor Ross had sent the man, what was he doing skulking about in the garage? And how had he gotten inside? She needed some answers. So when she reached her floor, she pushed the button for the garage and the elevator slowly descended. When she got back to the garage, Rachel found him squatting against a pillar, his cheeks wet from tears, his head tipped back. He’d tossed his jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, snatching up her pepper spray and aiming it at him again.

  “My name is Declan Quinn,” he said, squinting up at her. “I run Quinn Security and Investigations. Trevor Ross has our firm on retainer.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’ve been called in to provide you with personal security. There was a death threat made last night during your radio show. Ross thought I might be able to convince you to accept round-the-clock security. Your security detail was supposed to call you and let you know I’d be waiting here.”

  Her stomach roiled. “A-a death threat. Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” he replied.

  Rachel wasn’t sure what to do. The guy looked trustworthy. And he did seem to know the specifics of her situation. “Let me see your badge,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

  “I don’t carry a badge. I’m not a cop.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A tear trickled down his cheek and traced a path along his strong jawline. For a moment, Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off of it. “Here. Call Trevor Ross. His number is on my speed dial. He’ll explain everything.”

  She hesitated. If he was working for her boss, then she’d just made a very big mistake. “Why did you come after me?” she asked.

  “I was trying to introduce myself.”

  With a soft oath, Rachel tossed the pepper spray aside and stepped closer. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along toward the elevator, the fumes from the pepper spray burning at her own eyes. “You shouldn’t have startled me,” she scolded. “I’m really jumpy lately. And you came out of the dark. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You did the right thing,” he admitted.

  She stopped short. “I did?”

  He nodded. “Your first duty was to protect yourself. And you did.”

  They got inside the elevator and he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Rachel pulled her jacket up over her mouth and nose and observed him silently, taking her first good look at the man. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in his handsome features, the dark hair casually mussed, the straight nose and strong jaw. Her gaze came to a stop at his mouth and a shiver skittered down her spine.

  How could she have ever thought this guy was a stalker? A man as gorgeous as him would have to beat women off with a stick, not chase them around in the dark. She wondered what color his eyes were. It didn’t really matter. Regardless of the color, they’d just make him more attractive. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He glanced over at her, his eyes narrow slits, then shook his head. “You hit me in the chest and the hands. I have to get these clothes off. And it’s burning my hands. But if you’re going to count on pepper spray as a defense, we’ll need to improve your aim.”

  When the door opened on her floor, Rachel stepped out and the man followed her down the hall, his hand resting on her shoulder. His fingers were warm and gentle and when they slipped down to rest at the small of her back, Rachel felt herself go weak in the knees.

  Such a simple, innocent touch shouldn’t have affected her so strongly. Perhaps it was all the adrenaline pumping through her body that heightened every sensation. Every nerve in her body tingled and she found herself fantasizing about all the other places he might touch her body.

  He’d introduced himself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. In all the excitement, she’d completely lost her ability to think clearly. Quinn. That was it! But was it his first name or his last?

  When they got inside, he gave the apartment a cursory glance. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes,” he murmured. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Rachel pointed to the hallway on the other side of the living room. “Down that hall, last door on the left.” She watched him retreat. She could count on two fingers the handsome men who’d wandered into her life over the past couple of years. Not that she’d been actively looking for a relationship, but she hadn’t been “not” looking for a man. It wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. If her talk show had taught her anything it was that there was a match out there for everyone. But then spraying a guy with pepper spray didn’t exactly create a great first impression.

  She hurried down the hall and stood outside the bathroom door. “Is there anythin
g I can do?”

  “Do you have any cooking oil?” he asked through the door.

  “I think so.” Rachel frowned as she headed to the kitchen. If he’d asked her for cottage cheese she would have felt obliged to provide it. After retrieving a bottle of canola oil, she returned to the bathroom and rapped on the door. When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open.

  He stood in front of the sink, bare-chested, his shirt wadded up in the corner. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was slender, but quite muscular, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist and a flat belly. His trousers hung low on his waist, revealing a trail of hair that ran from his belly to beneath his waistband.

  As he bent over the sink, she handed him the oil. He poured a bit onto his hands then rubbed it in. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Taking away the sting.” After he removed most of the oil with a towel, he doused his hands in her facial astringent. “You’re supposed to use alcohol, but I think this will do.”

  “I have a bottle of vodka,” Rachel offered cheerily.

  “I’d prefer Scotch,” he said. “On the rocks.” His voice was deep and rich, with a slightly cynical edge.

  “I-I’ll just go get-”

  He chuckled softly. “Never mind. I don’t drink on the job.”

  “I could use a drink,” she murmured.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Rachel turned and walked back down the hall. When she reached the kitchen, she took a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a measure into a tumbler, then took a slow sip. This was not how she had expected the evening to end, with a half-naked man in her apartment.

  After her show had finished at one a.m., she’d looked forward to a long, hot bath, a good book, perhaps a movie to wind down, and then a decent night’s sleep. In truth, that’s the best she hoped for every night. But since the letters had started, she hadn’t slept much at all. And now, a death threat. What was she supposed to do with that?

  Rachel kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa, sinking into the down-filled cushions. She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped at the vodka, listening to the sounds of a real live man in her apartment. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he was here for a different reason-for a romantic reason, that he’d emerge from the bathroom completely naked and aroused and ready to seduce her.