by Anna Perrin
“We have his bank account and credit card statements. They might give some insight into his financial situation.”
Gene frowned. “I’m not optimistic we’re going to find him with our usual methods. He knows how we search for a fugitive—who we contact, what we look for, how we process info.”
“He has an unpredictable streak,” Brent agreed. “He’s already demonstrated that.”
As well as a willingness to kill.
If they didn’t catch him fast, he would surely up the body count.
THROUGH THE CLOSED DOOR of Gene’s office, Claire could hear the sound of loud voices.
Lisa Conrad, Gene’s admin assistant, glanced up from her computer monitor. “Don’t look so worried. Gene and Brent get riled up from time to time.”
Claire nodded, then sipped the coffee she’d bought from the vending machine around the corner.
Leaning across her workstation, Lisa lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So what’s it like staying alone with Mr. Tough Guy?”
She feigned nonchalance. “Fine.”
“That guy’s hot,” Lisa said, with a grin. “Or haven’t you noticed?”
When Claire didn’t answer, Lisa winked. “Oh, yeah, you’ve noticed. Heck, you’d have to be blind not to. The question is, what are you doing about it?”
Claire finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the wastepaper basket. “Agent Young has been assigned to protect me. There’s nothing personal between us.”
“Then you’re wasting a golden opportunity, girl. Most of the women on this floor would be delirious to swap places with you.”
Oh no, they wouldn’t, Claire thought. Not if they knew she’d almost died twice in the last twenty-four hours. “I didn’t realize he was in such high demand.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like he even notices. That hunky man shows zero interest in the female staffers around here.”
Lisa’s words pleased her more than they should have. “Maybe he wants to keep his professional and personal lives separate.”
“Could be,” Lisa said. “But I bet he’d make an exception for the right woman.”
What type of woman would Brent go for? Claire wondered. Certainly not her. She was too intense, too opinionated, too—
She stopped, annoyed that she’d been speculating about him.
“You could be that woman,” Lisa continued.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Of course, he’d be a challenge. But your line of work makes you good at connecting with people.”
“I haven’t had much success with him.”
“The other agents like you a lot more than Dr. Telso.”
Claire had heard rumors about her predecessor’s unpopularity, but she knew for a fact that Brent didn’t consider her an improvement. Whenever she touched on subjects of a personal nature, he shut her down or stalked away.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Brent and I are too different to have a relationship.”
“Relationships are overrated.” Lisa wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I was talking about sex.”
Claire couldn’t help but laugh. “I just met the guy and you think I should fall into bed with him?”
“Fall?” Lisa shook her head. “Hell, honey, I’d jump into bed with him.”
“Jump into bed with whom?” Gene asked, bearing down on Lisa’s workstation with Brent close behind him.
Claire felt her cheeks flame.
“No one,” Lisa said, winking at Claire before she turned her attention back to her monitor and settled her fingers on the keyboard.
Claire felt Brent’s gaze on her, but kept her own averted. If she looked at him, he would surely guess they’d been discussing him.
Gene came closer, a concerned expression on his face. “How are you holding up, Claire?”
“Okay,” she said, although her hand stung as if she’d stuck it in a beehive. “I’d like to meet with you for a minute, in private.”
He turned to Lisa. “While Claire and I are talking, please scan the material Brent gives you so he can load the files onto his laptop.”
Gene escorted her into his office and closed the door. “What’s up?”
“I heard you and Brent going at it. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but I’m concerned. Was it about me?”
She knew her speculation was on target when Gene hesitated.
“You should know,” she went on, “that it’s okay with me if Brent wants to be reassigned. He’s done a great job, but you shouldn’t force him to continue—”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Claire.”
She’d expected the denial, but Gene sounded sincere. “Are you sure?”
“Brent was upset about what went down at Forrester’s house. He wants to keep on protecting you. Most definitely.”
Relief flooded her. Because no matter how infuriating Brent could be at times, he had saved her life twice and she trusted him to do it again.
“What happened today,” Gene said, “was terrible, but you seem to be handling it well.”
Mostly because she’d been blocking it out of her mind. And although part of her was still horrified and shaken, another part was keenly aware that the outcome could have been far worse. Even so, Gene had lost one of his men.
“I’m very sorry about Harris,” she said.
Gene looked down at his desk. “He was a new agent. Showed a lot of promise.”
“You couldn’t have prevented what happened.”
Gene’s solemn gaze lifted to meet hers. “Thanks for your concern, Claire, but I’ve had men die under my command before. I can deal with it.”
“I know you can.” She was the one who felt out of her element.
“We’ll get Forrester,” Gene promised, and the fierceness in his tone left her in no doubt that it would happen.
She cleared her throat. “What about my patients?”
“You’re not meeting with anybody until the situation with Forrester is resolved.”
“But I have appointments every day.”
“Give me your BlackBerry. Lisa will check your schedule and cancel the ones for the rest of this week.”
“But—”
“We need to eliminate the risk that Forrester can trace your calls. Lisa will give you a disposable cell phone on your way out.”
“I don’t care about phones. I care about my patients.”
“Until we rule out the possibility that someone internal is involved with Forrester, I’m not letting you meet with anyone.”
She knew Gene was only trying to keep her safe. Still, it was hard to accept not working until Forrester was arrested. What if he eluded them for weeks? Some of her patients were just beginning to trust her. Months of effort could easily slip away. Of course, if she accepted the job offer in Minneapolis, her patients would have to adjust to her absence on a permanent basis.
Gene got to his feet. “Try to make the best of this break, Claire. And know that we’re working hard to end it soon.”
AS BRENT UNLOADED the groceries onto the cabin’s kitchen counter, it occurred to him that his companion was uncharacteristically quiet. She stood in front of the fridge, a blank expression on her face.
“Claire?”
He couldn’t be certain from this distance, but it seemed as if she was trembling. He should probably say something to settle her down but couldn’t think of the right words. Besides, talk was overrated. He was a man of action. But what action was called for?
He eyed her slender frame. If he held her, would the trembling stop?
He remembered the last minutes at Forrester’s house when Claire had plastered herself to him like wallpaper. Even now, he could feel her arms around his bare torso, her breasts crushed against his chest, the softness of her skin and the silky texture of her hair. His body began to respond, and he knew he had better avoid physical contact with her.
She blinked several times, on the verge of tears.
He
r damp eyes surprised him. She had acted so levelheaded during the fire and the discovery of Harris’s body, it was easy to forget how overwhelmed she might be feeling. Wanting to offer some kind of comfort but not trusting himself to embrace her, he reached for her hand.
She cried out, jerking it away from him.
Damn. He’d forgotten all about her touching the hot doorknob—probably because she hadn’t drawn attention to it. That type of stoicism was a refreshing change from his last girlfriend, Patty, who had complained about everything: the weather, PMS, his job. Why was he comparing them? He wasn’t looking for another girlfriend—no matter how much Claire’s hug had turned him on.
“Let me see,” he growled, annoyed by his meandering thoughts.
She hesitated for a moment, then extended her right hand to him, palm up.
As he stared at the red, blistered skin, a wave of regret hit him. It was his job to protect her. Not just to keep her alive but to keep her safe. He’d failed her.
That must never happen again.
He guided her over to a kitchen chair, then retrieved the first aid kit from the cupboard above the stove.
“What’s that?” Claire asked, peering at the capsules he extracted from the kit.
“Aloe vera.” Breaking them open, he spread the gel over the burned area.
He didn’t want her to have a scar. When this was all over, he wanted her to forget about Forrester, not carry a reminder of the violent patient who had tried to kill her.
She bit her lip, obviously hurting, and he spoke to distract her. “I’m surprised there’s any of this stuff left. Sanderson used to singe his fingers every time he grilled—” He stopped abruptly.
A very loud silence ticked by.
“It must be difficult to be here without him.”
He jerked his shoulder in an awkward shrug. He should know better than to talk to a shrink. She’d immediately zeroed in on his pain.
As he carefully wrapped gauze around her hand, he braced himself for more of her questions.
She surprised him by saying, “You’d make a good paramedic.”
His mother was a nurse and had taught him how to bandage cuts, set broken bones. Important skills for a skinny kid who had been beaten by the bullies at school because he sucked at team sports and had no father. “I fought like hell to become an FBI agent. I’m not about to switch careers anytime soon.”
“I didn’t say you should be a medic. Just that you could be.”
Should. Could. Typical shrink double-talk. But instead of ignoring her comment, he heard himself asking, “Why?”
“You stay calm and focused in a crisis.” Her voice took on a husky undertone. “And you have a gentle touch.”
She dropped her gaze to her bandaged hand, but a telltale pink stained her cheeks.
He smiled as he applied adhesive tape to secure the bandage. So she thought he had a gentle touch, did she? Maybe she’d enjoy it somewhere other than her hand. He traced his fingers from her wrist to her elbow. Her arm was lightly tanned, muting the network of veins under her skin. He thought about tracing those veins with his tongue, then licking places on her body with no tan.
Claire had said she wouldn’t get involved with an agent. But she was going to make an exception. For him.
He heard her breath catch as his fingers moved toward her shoulder, and he smiled again. Did she have any idea what he was thinking? What he wanted to do to her? What he wanted her to do to him?
He still distrusted psychologists. But he was making an exception. For her.
Moving closer, he kissed her full on the mouth.
CLAIRE’S MIND SPUN like a kaleidoscope. Feelings she barely recognized swamped her. Feelings of longing. Of need. Of desire. No matter how much she pretended otherwise, Brent’s every look, his every touch sparked an intense awareness in her. The chemistry between them was volatile as nitroglycerine, and she had no doubt his kiss was the prelude to a sweet explosion.
Opening her lips, she welcomed the thrust of his tongue. She’d never been kissed so thoroughly. Her last boyfriend had been a main-event man, with little interest in foreplay. Despite her attempts to guide him otherwise, he’d remained stubbornly fixated on the culmination of the act. That destination-over-journey preference had only been one of the differences that had led to their breakup two years ago.
Brent seemed to be more attuned to her. She rewarded him by kissing him back with enthusiasm, angling her mouth to deepen the kiss and show her approval for his slow, unhurried pace. He let out a low groan. The vibration rippled through every one of her nerve endings.
She wanted to get closer to him. As she moved forward, her breasts brushed against his T-shirt and her nipples puckered. She gasped, thrilled by the sensation.
He kissed her again, then slipped his hand beneath her tank top and stroked the swollen peaks through her bra.
Oh, yeah. That felt good. Better than good. Phenomenal.
But was phenomenal enough of a reason to keep going?
This morning Brent had made it clear that he despised psychologists. And during the intervening hours, he’d given no indication of having altered his opinion. So how come she was letting him feel her up? Not only letting him but encouraging him? And enjoying herself to boot? The fire at Forrester’s place had done more than burn her hand. It had fried her brain.
Brent’s fingers traced her spine, en route to the clasp on her bra. Within seconds, he’d have it unfastened and touch her bare breasts. And though her body yearned for exactly that, her brain was struggling to give her a different message. Something about not letting a man she barely knew strip her naked.
She jerked back and dragged her top down.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s happening between us,” she said.
He shot her a look of disbelief. “You don’t want me touching you?”
The lie stuck in her throat, and she swallowed around it. “You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t even know each other.”
He reached for her. “We can fix that soon enough.”
“By having sex?”
His eyes narrowed before his mouth relaxed into a smile that took her breath away. “Well, I’m not usually a first-date kind of guy, but for you, I’m willing to be flexible.”
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or slug him. “You’re being obtuse.”
“No, I’m confused.” He rubbed the side of his face. “Although, on second thought, maybe I do understand. You enjoyed me kissing you. But you got cold feet when you realized I wanted that bra gone—”
“Do you like me, Brent?”
He looked taken aback. “What kind of question is that?”
“A perfectly legitimate one,” she answered, feigning a calmness she didn’t feel.
“You think I’m in the habit of making out with women I dislike?”
“I think you’re attracted to me physically, but you don’t know me well enough to like me or not.”
“That’s not true.”
“What do you know about me?”
He considered her for a long moment as if she were a meal he wanted to devour. “When I was inside Forrester’s house, you came back for me even though you were terrified of the fire. And when we found McKenna, you suggested he seek out the paramedics. So I’d say, based on your actions, I like you fine.
“And I’m attracted to you,” he continued. “In fact, I’d like nothing more than to pick up where we left off. But I don’t put the moves on a woman who isn’t interested. So it’s my turn to ask a question, Claire. Are you interested—or not?”
Of course, she was interested, and that was the problem. If he touched her again, she’d abandon all common sense for the pleasure she would find in his bed. And mixing it up with an agent, however temporarily, would be a huge mistake.
The solution was simple. Kill his interest in her. “Nothing’s changed since this morning. I’m still a psychologist.”
He had the audacity to shrug. “Which is why you’re talking this whole thing to death instead of admitting you want me.”
She gritted her teeth. “You’re projecting—”
He laughed low in his throat. “If you think resorting to shrink lingo will put me off, you’re wrong. You kissed me back.”
“You surprised me.”
“For a few seconds,” he conceded. “After that, you were enjoying yourself. A lot.”
She hated the smugness of his tone, hated even more that the words he spoke were true. “So what if I enjoyed kissing you? That doesn’t mean…You’re practically a stranger.”
“We can discuss our favorite foods and movies later. For now, stop analyzing and go with the flow.”
She folded her arms. “As far as I’m concerned, the flow has stopped.”
He looked disappointed, but philosophical. “There’s always next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she said, in an effort to convince herself as much as him. “We have to stick together until Forrester is apprehended. Then we go our separate ways.”
He frowned, as if tired of arguing with her.
She tucked her tank top into her jeans. “I’m sorry I gave you mixed messages. I just don’t want to act on an impulse that I’ll regret afterward.”
But as she left the room, a voice inside taunted her with a different possibility—that she might later regret not acting on the impulse.
She fervently hoped that voice was wrong.
CLAIRE WAS RIGHT, Brent decided. Sleeping together would make an already complicated situation even more so. He should be grateful her common sense had nixed their passion. But he wasn’t. Her exotic taste still lingered on his lips, her sweet fragrance still filled his nostrils and her excited gasp still rang in his ears. If she hadn’t left the room, he’d have been hard pressed to keep his hands to himself. Because despite the arguments she’d made, he was sure he could make her forget logic and respond to him.
He cursed softly. He needed to stop thinking about her and start thinking about Forrester.
Firing up his laptop, he opened the file containing the scanned material from the house. But after twenty minutes of reviewing bank statements, he pushed back from the table in disgust. If Forrester had acquired illegal funds, he wasn’t stupid enough to deposit them into this account. So where were they?
