Under Lock and Key

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Rising, she reached for the button of her jeans. He let her slide the zipper down, then spanned her hips with his hands and slipped the denim down the silkiness of her legs. With one hand, he threw back the rainbow-colored quilt and lace-edged sheet covering the bed. With the other, he invited her to lie down with him.

  When her inexpert hands skimmed up to the yellow-green bruise over his rib cage, his stomach quivered. He swore softly at the tightening of his already overwound body, at the renewed fury of his desire.

  She snapped her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

  Their gazes met and held, and soon a smile of pure feminine contentment graced her lips. “That’s good?”

  He trailed his lips over her face, across her jaw, down her neck. “That’s very good.”

  She touched him low, and raw need exploded. “Very. Good.”

  He ran his hand over her calf, up her thigh, then skimmed his thumb between her legs. She closed her eyes and gripped the sheet with her fists. She was wet and hot. Her hips moved to meet his touch. The soft moan deep in her throat had his system screaming for her. But he wanted to be careful with her, gentle.

  He slipped his hands under her hips and cupped her bottom. Bringing his mouth a breath away from hers, he whispered, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  She opened her eyes. Only a small halo of deep green crowned the wide-open pupil. The longer he looked, the more he saw. It was like being sucked into one of her paintings. The connection was more than physical and it took his breath away.

  “Look at what you do to me,” he rasped.

  The groan as he entered her had nothing to do with the pain tattooing his ribs and everything to do with being lost. There were words that needed to be said, words she needed to hear, but he could not articulate the chaos jumbling inside him. “Melissa.”

  With a swift stroke he broke the barrier of her virginity, watched helplessly as her eyes clouded, her face contorted in surprise, felt her fingers digging into his hips.

  Half-mad with need, knowing she needed time to adjust to his invasion, he kissed her tenderly, whispered the only word that his mouth seemed able to form—“Melissa”—over and over again.

  And when he felt her soften beneath him, when her hips pushed once more against his, he gently thrust again, acclimating her inch by inch to the rhythm of love.

  His senses were filled with the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her. Slowly she picked up the cadence, moving as one with him. The liquid waltz of body against body resonated through him. The song of it touched his soul.

  “Oh,” she said, and went still. Her eyes widened. Her body shivered. He clung to his frittering control. “Tyler?”

  He whispered sweet nothings to her and held her as she rode the crest of her climax, then careened helplessly after her into the insanity of his own release.

  So much for objectivity, he thought as he collapsed.

  Without it, people died.

  Lindsey.

  He saw her now in his mind’s eye, her blond hair shimmering in the sun, her blue eyes seeming to take in the whole world. Then the picture whirled and she was limp in his arms, blood staining the bodice of her dress. The godawful noise of her last breath filled his memory. And a dull ache kneaded his heart.

  He couldn’t allow his thoughts to follow that track. It would lead straight to the whiskey demon, and he needed a clear head to keep Melissa safe.

  She deserved more than the taking of her innocence. But he didn’t want a relationship. Losing Lindsey had nearly killed him. He wasn’t going to risk emotions. Emotions blurred facts. And he needed to maintain what little edge he had to see this through.

  Rolling onto his good side, he scooped Melissa against him, held her tightly and kissed her tenderly. She settled against him, her curves fitting perfectly to him. Her sigh of contentment echoed his own.

  With his fingers he reverently traced the soft lines of her body. Then, spreading his palm over a stretch of reddened skin, he propped himself on one elbow. “How did it happen?”

  She tried to turn away, but he gently held her in place. “Curiosity, Melissa, not judgment.”

  Her eyes softened and she nodded, settling once more against his body. “We were driving home—here,” she clarified. “Mama had picked me up from my friend Jessica’s house after a business thing at my father’s office. They said she was drunk. I couldn’t tell. It wouldn’t surprise me, though. She hated hosting my father’s cocktail parties. We were going down a Mixmaster overpass when we hit a retaining wall. I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “There was a fire.” He kissed her ribs and heard the sharp hiss of her breath.

  “They say my seat belt came undone and somehow I ended up under the dashboard, instead of through the windshield. The burns came from the engine fire. Someone pulled me out.”

  “Your mother?”

  “No, she was still inside.” Melissa gulped. “Trapped.”

  With eyes and fingers, he was studying the contrast of textures on her body when she put her hand over his. “Does it bother you?”

  “No,” he said, gaze straight and true. The scarred skin was tougher, shinier, slicker than the rest of her skin, but no, the leathery feel wasn’t unpleasant.

  “That skin feels stiffer because it doesn’t have pores. There are no sweat glands, no hair follicles.”

  “That’s why you stay out of the sun.”

  “Partly. My left eye is still sensitive to light.” She turned on her side, facing him. “Dee tried to get me out. Once. She took me to the Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth. I trusted her when she said everything would be okay. But it wasn’t. I saw the elbow nudging, the finger pointing, heard the whispering. People followed me with their eyes, pretending they weren’t looking at all. And then there were those who came back for a second look as if I was an animal at the zoo.”

  She reached for him as if she needed the contact. Her callused palms brushed against his chest. Electricity serpentined down his torso. “I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want anyone looking at me. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.”

  “So you hid.”

  “And now—” she shrugged “—even this place isn’t safe.”

  He held her close and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll find whoever’s doing this to you, Melissa. I promise.”

  Silently he swore. He’d gone and mired himself eyeball-deep in emotions.

  A perfect recipe for disaster.

  THE LIBRARY at the Randall estate was Architectural Digest perfect. Everything was just so. No speck of dust was tolerated on the polished mahogany of the furniture. No book allowed to stray so much as a quarter of an inch from its position at the edge of a shelf. No cold ember of coal was permitted to soil the hearth of the fireplace. All reasons why Ray hadn’t bothered to wipe the horse manure from the bottom of his stable boots and why he placed the dirty crown of his hat on the tapestry seat of the chair beside him.

  The ritual was a daily one. Jimmy, as immaculate as the room in his dark suit, would have coffee waiting. Forehead pleated, white eyebrows knit, he would play his move on the gold-and-silver chess set. Then, as Ray pondered his own move, Jimmy would give his orders for the day. One rule of chess was silence, but people like Jimmy tended to ignore the rules.

  Jimmy moved his king. “Give me an update on Black Witch.”

  The mare had pulled up lame after her last race, but had recovered enough to race again this weekend. Ray brought Jimmy up-to-date on the rest of his charges. Then he moved his bishop to threaten Jimmy’s king and contained his smile. Jimmy would have to give up material to stave off Ray’s threat. One of the joys of chess was pulling off a difficult attack. But for all his hard-ass reputation, the great J.R. Randall hated to take risks.

  Without acknowledging the brilliance of Ray’s move, Jimmy got up and headed toward the desk parked between two tall windows. Bright sunshine radiated around him like a halo. “D
eanna is to attend a horseshow in Irving this weekend. Once she’s on the show grounds, I want you to arrange for her truck to have engine trouble.”

  “Sir?”

  “That seems clear enough. Dee will be out of town and I want her to remain out of town.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gritting his teeth, Ray picked up his hat and crammed it onto his head. How was he supposed to be in Irving taking care of Deanna’s truck and at Trinity Meadows shepherding three horses into the winner’s circle?

  “And Ray? Make sure neither my daughter nor the horse are harmed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The proverbial lightbulb went on in Ray’s mind. He saw Jimmy’s game spread out, every move outlined. Too bad Jimmy was attacking without having control of the center. That left him exposed to a counterattack that could split his forces. At this rate he was going to end up on the wrong side of a masterly win.

  Chapter Eleven

  Over the next couple of days, Melissa and Tyler drew up charts on large swaths of paper and hung them around the studio walls, adding facts as they came to light. But all their efforts seemed to lead nowhere, except in circles.

  As Tyler once again tried to conjure something new out of the ether of the information highway, Melissa paced from chart to chart, examining the entries, making excuses to brush against him, to touch him. So far, what they’d gathered looked more like Swiss cheese than a blueprint to expose a villain. “We’re missing something.”

  “Maybe we’re looking at it from the wrong angle.”

  Melissa stopped before the chart topped with Tyler’s name and studied the entries. “Tyler?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Your pawn. You said you thought it meant someone wanted you involved.”

  He shrugged as he typed. “Why send me a pawn unless they thought they could use me?”

  “Maybe it was a warning.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed, fearing that his presence here, guarding her, was putting him in danger. “Maybe they want you to stay away.”

  He brushed a kiss against her fingers. “Then their tactic backfired.”

  At what cost? Would whoever wanted to harm her plow through Tyler as they had through Grace to get to her? Melissa sat on a stool next to her worktable, reached for a drawing pad and a pencil. What did they want? Her money? Then why go through this complicated charade? Why not simply ask or take?

  Tyler had been willing to take a bullet for her. Now she found she would gladly take one for him. To live while he died seemed the worst tragedy she could imagine. Is that how he’d felt about Lindsey? “Tell me about that day—the day your wife died.”

  “You don’t want to hear.”

  Pushed by her nervous energy, the pencil scratched against the paper. Selma hopped on the worktable and begged for attention. When Melissa ignored her, the cat jumped to the windowsill and curled into a ball. “Tell me, anyway. What happened?”

  Tyler spun the computer chair around. “You’re not going to like the direction.”

  “I’m not liking anything about the situation.” Except having you in my bed. She’d been an ostrich for too long. It was time to face reality head-on, even if she didn’t like what she saw.

  Tyler leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and dangling his hands between his legs. “I was working on a story about Randall Industries. They were the darlings of the year. Their earnings had shot through the roof and their stock was the one to buy. But things weren’t adding up. The investigation was going nowhere. Then I got a phone call from one of their accountants.”

  “A disgruntled employee?” Being awake this early was a novelty for her, and she liked the way the bright sunlight played over Tyler’s face, the sharpness it gave to his features. Her pencil raced across the page as she tried to capture his essence.

  “No, he’d already found another job because he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, but he also didn’t feel right about what was going on. He told me that if something wasn’t done soon, when the company collapsed, a lot of people were going to get hurt. Not top brass, but worker ants.”

  “Well, obviously he was wrong, since Randall Industries is still going strong.”

  “On the surface. Rot eventually shows.”

  “Either way, there’s no proof. What happened next?”

  Tyler blew out a breath. “He asked me to meet him. Lindsey wanted to go to a performance of Shakespeare in the Park, so I made arrangements to meet him nearby. I was going to go ahead and meet her there, but she thought driving two cars was ridiculous and talked me into letting her tag along.” A cloud of pain darkened his face. Melissa wanted to kiss it away, but kept her left hand moving over the paper, instead. “And someone shot her.”

  As Melissa imagined the sunshine that was Lindsey fading, her pencil slowed. Suddenly she felt sorry for the woman she’d never met. Her life was taken for nothing, and with it, something vital in Tyler was stolen. “While you were talking with the accountant?”

  Tyler nodded. “I didn’t get enough out of him before. At the sound of the shot, he fled.”

  “Do you think it was a setup?”

  Tyler squared his shoulders. “From the look on his face, no. No one’s heard from him since.”

  “You’ve tried to find him?”

  “Lester Collins seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. And no one’s talking.”

  Had he paid the same price Lindsey had? What could have been so important to hide that lives were made disposable? Melissa put down her pencil and crouched in front of Tyler, holding both his hands in hers. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

  He shook his head. “I knew this was an explosive case. I should have insisted I meet her at the park. If I had, she’d still be alive.”

  “It still hurts.” She wanted to crawl into him and take away the grief.

  He nodded, his gaze on a place that didn’t include her.

  The pain would always be there. She was a fool to think she could ever make him forget. How could she compete with the ghost of the wife who’d owned his heart, still did? Swallowing thickly she asked, “Why would someone want you to relive that agony? How would that help them get whatever it is they want from me?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair and expelled a gusty breath. “If we knew that, we’d be ahead of the game.”

  And in a position to do something about it. She didn’t like being in defensive mode. A popping of gravel on the road caught her attention. She cocked her head. “Dee’s here. We need a break. Let’s go watch her ride.”

  “SHE DOESN’T MAKE him look half as good as you do,” Tyler said, leaning against the white fence as they watched Dee ride. Eclipse’s muffled footfalls on the soft ground of the roped dressage ring didn’t sing as they had for Melissa. His movements, though still extraordinary, didn’t create a sense of awe. And Dee’s petite figure seemed to perch atop the horse whereas Melissa’s had become part of the horse.

  “Good enough to win Horse of the Year last year.”

  Her smile was more brilliant than the shades of orange washing the evening sky. She wore no shawl—hadn’t since he’d rescued her from jail. Her long black hair fluttered in the breeze, teasing his arm. He wanted her—again. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. And that couldn’t be good—for either of them. After that first time, he’d made sure to have condoms available. He’d done enough damage without bringing another life into the mess.

  “You should show him,” he said.

  Frowning, she shook her head. “I want them to see him, not me.”

  “They would see magic.” As he had.

  She blinked, and in those bewitching green eyes, he saw a world of vulnerability. His heart contracted. He slipped an arm around her waist and refocused his attention on the horse going through its paces in the ring.

  Lindsey’s death still had him raw, and the memory of her threatened to engulf him. She’d been his world, and his do-whatever-it-takes-to-get-the-story attitude had c
ost her her life.

  He had no right to feel the things he did for Melissa. She would never leave this castle, and he realized with a pang that he couldn’t stay. He’d made her no promises about the future; she’d asked for none. Yet he felt as if he’d somehow failed her.

  It was all so confusing. But he was a reporter. His job was to make order out of chaos, to expose lies. For that he needed to think clearly. He had to unravel the snarled ball of wool in front of him before Melissa ended up just like Lindsey. Figuring out the maze of his complicated emotions would have to wait.

  Still, he couldn’t escape the feeling that time was running out, that if he didn’t do something soon, history would repeat itself. He didn’t want the responsibility, but Freddy had put it squarely on his shoulders.

  For self-preservation, he needed a breather. With distance, he could get a grip on objectivity. Melissa would be safe here with Dee for a bit. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead, lingering for a moment. “I have some calls to make.”

  What did he have to offer her?

  Nothing at all.

  MELISSA WATCHED him leave and felt a sense of loss—as if a cloud had scudded over the sun, stealing its heat. Someone temporary shouldn’t feel so permanent. She was beginning to depend on his presence, his touch. This from a woman who’d prided herself on her independence. But Tyler’s arrival and Grace’s attack had changed that perception. She needed more than these gray walls and wasn’t sure how to go about getting it—whatever “it” was.

  Dee halted in the center of the ring and saluted the imaginary judge sitting at the top of the ring, then loosened the reins as she petted Eclipse’s neck and headed toward Melissa. “How did he look?”

  “He needs more engagement in the back.”

  “He doesn’t like the double bridle and stiffens up on me.”

  “Lighten your hands.” The advice was old hat. Dee did her best, but Tyler was right, she couldn’t ride Eclipse as well as Melissa did. Dee didn’t have the deep connection that came with long hours of companionship. “What time are you picking him up on Friday?”