by Lori Wilde
“Masochist.”
“Hey, at least I’m out there swinging. Come on, tell the truth. You’ve never ever been in love?”
Marlie hesitated. “Well, I did have a mad crush on a boy when I was little. Does that count?”
“How little?”
“Five.”
“Who’d you have the crush on?”
“Ironically enough, it was with the son of the man who murdered my father.”
“What?!” Joel coughed as if he’d swallowed wrong.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he said, but his voice sounded strangely tight. Marlie eyed him apprehensively. “Go on.”
“I had the biggest crush on J. J., but it was long before his dad killed mine. J. J. was five or six years older than I was. He considered me a pest because his parents made him play with me, but I was besotted.” Marlie sighed wistfully. She hadn’t thought of J. J. in years. Which was a shame because it was a sweet memory. One of the few good ones she cherished from her childhood.
“Yeah?”
“He was so cute. Tall and dark-headed, and he had these amazing gray-green-blue eyes that looked a lot like yours. They’re an unusual color you don’t often see. He loved baseball, and he always had a pack of baseball cards stuck in his back pocket. He would buy them and then give me the gum out of the pack. I pretended to like baseball just for the gum and to hear him talk about his favorite team, the Texas Rangers.”
Maybe that’s why she was so intrigued by Joel. On a subconscious level, with his dark hair and ocean eyes, he reminded her of J. J. Hunter.
“Whatever happened to this kid?”
Marlie shrugged. “His parents divorced and his mom got full custody. I never saw him again.”
“When was the last time you thought about him?”
“Oh, not for years and years. I wouldn’t have thought of him now if you hadn’t brought it up.”
“Then no.” Joel shook his head. “That crush doesn’t count as being in love. You were too young.”
“Maybe, but in my five-year-old brain it was pretty intense.”
She might have been young, but her feelings for J. J. had run deep. She could still remember how he’d given her piggyback rides up and down the beach that summer. How warm the sun had felt on her face, how light her heart had soared. And there was the time he’d stood up for her when a couple of bullies had tried to take her ice-cream cone from her when they’d cornered her on the boardwalk.
Why was there a lump in her throat? She stared out the window at her mother’s house. For the first time she noticed every light was on in the bungalow. That was odd. Mom was compulsively frugal. She never left a room without turning off the lights.
“Marlie? You okay?” Joel touched her again. This time she felt much more than mere sympathy in his contact. His touch was firmer, lingering, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.
She jerked her hand away and stared into the turbulent depths of his eyes. Unbidden, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to look into those eyes as he made love to her. Startled by the thought, she dropped her gaze, hoping he hadn’t been able to see the irrational fantasies written on her face.
Mom. Concentrate on Mom.
But she couldn’t concentrate on Mom, because if she did, she would start visualizing all kinds of horrors that she wasn’t prepared to deal with.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.
“No need.” She was out of the SUV, but so was Joel, and he was already halfway around it.
Lovely.
Before she could tell him to beat it, he’d locked his fingers around her elbow and was escorting her up the walkway.
It was totally dark now, all twilight gone. The security lamps had come on, adding to the electrical glow from her mother’s bungalow. The house hunkered on a sandy bluff; the air was thick with the smell of sea and the sound of the surf crashing against the shore.
Fear bloomed on her tongue. It tasted sharp and sour.
Something was very, very wrong. Her mother would never leave all the lights on.
Marlie broke free from Joel’s grip and ran up to the porch. She jiggled the knob and the door flew open.
Recoiling at the sight before her, she turned to bury her face against Joel’s chest and took in a few deep calming breaths before she could bring herself to look again.
Mom’s normally immaculate house was trashed. Pictures were ripped from the walls, furniture overturned, papers scattered across the floor. Panicked, Marlie tossed her purse onto the bar and tore through the rooms, screaming her mother’s name, flinching at each new scene of destruction.
A shattered mirror in the bathroom, smashed plants in their clay pots in the sunroom, and in her mother’s bedroom family photographs strewn everywhere. Some torn, some stepped on. Most of them ruined.
Marlie let out a shriek of despair and dropped to her knees. She snatched up the pictures, clutching them to her chest with trembling fingers.
Joel crouched beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she wrenched from his touch, inconsolable. Stop relying on this man. You don’t know him. Can’t trust him. She glanced down at the carpet and saw a dark stain and several droplets on the floor leading away from it.
Blood.
“Mom,” she whimpered. “Mom, where are you?”
The bouncy hip-hop sound of the Black-eyed Peas vibrated from behind the door of Treeni’s trendy Georgetown condo. Cosmo stood on her front stoop, his laptop in one hand, a boxed cheesecake in the other.
He had thought about bringing her flowers, but that seemed too romantic for a woman like Treeni. He had finally decided on the cheesecake because he lived two blocks from The Cheesecake Factory and besides, who didn’t love cheesecake?
Cosmo was so excited about seeing her tonight that he’d even made a couple of mistakes at work, his first since starting at ONI. Nothing major, but his boss had noticed and commented on the errors. Then, just as Cosmo was leaving for the day, Chief Peterson had stopped by his desk and said ominously, “Don’t let Treeni Delaney ruin you too, Villereal.”
What had he meant by that?
And why had Peterson’s forbidding statement made him want Treeni all the more?
Cosmo took a deep breath and prepared to knock, but he’d no sooner raised his fist to the door than Treeni yanked it open from the inside.
“Get in here, quick.” Treeni grabbed him by the belt loop and tugged him over the threshold.
Her touch was like an electrical current, shocking him with a perverse thrill. He cast a glance over his shoulder as she slammed the door behind him.
“Were you followed?” She lifted back the roman shade and peered out at the street.
“Followed?” Cosmo blinked.
She was wearing a slinky fire-engine-red dressing gown and matching mules with feathers on them. She’d combed her hair down loose, and it cascaded over her shoulders in thick, fetching chestnut waves.
Cosmo swallowed hard as his gaze fixed on her bottom. Her attire left no doubt as to her intentions. He was here to be seduced. Frankly, he didn’t know if he was ready for this step or not, even though he wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. Wanted her so badly that he’d stuffed three condoms in his laptop case and prayed he’d get to use at least one of them.
It wasn’t like him to be so bold, so calculating, but he’d grown tired of always watching and waiting, hanging back and letting other men take the lead and reap the spoils for their effrontery. It was his turn now, and he wasn’t backing down. He’d snagged the job he’d always wanted, and now he wanted Treeni.
Treeni turned back to look at him, letting the shade drop. “You didn’t check to make sure you weren’t being followed?”
“No. Was I supposed to?”
“You work for ONI. You’re always supposed to check to see if you’re being tailed. Didn’t they teach you anything in orientation?” Treeni looked at him as if he were a not-too-bright Labrador retriev
er, and Cosmo was immediately plunged into self-doubt. He wanted her to look at him with reverence and respect.
“I’m civilian,” Cosmo reminded her and shook his head. “Not a Navy spy.”
“You’re always vulnerable,” she scolded. “Nefarious forces could kidnap you and torture you for the things you know.”
Was she kidding? Cosmo stared at her. She didn’t look like she was kidding.
“ONI is serious business,” she said. “Don’t doubt it for a minute.”
“I know, I know. They did cover security measures in the orientation briefing. Who’s supposed to be watching me?”
“They’re not watching you. They’re watching me,” Treeni said.
“Who’s watching you?”
Treeni sighed. “My father’s minions.”
“Your father has people spying on you? What for?” Cosmo asked.
“Dad’s bid for the presidency is a royal pain in my butt. He’s got his yes-men out making sure I don’t do anything to embarrass him.” Her tone changed when she caught sight of the box he was holding. “Oh, you brought me Cheesecake Factory. How sweet. What kind didja get?”
“Turtle.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yum, my fave.”
She took the box into the kitchen. Cosmo followed after her, still feeling like that dumb Labrador. So much for being strong. She waved at her kitchen table. “You can go ahead and set up your laptop.”
Cosmo did as she asked. Plugging it in to save on the battery, booting up, and then looking to her for further instructions. He didn’t know what this was all about. Was it a date? He eyed her attire. She was dressed as if this was far more than a simple date. But then why had she asked him to bring his laptop?
Was she one of those people who loved to have sex on camera and upload it live onto the Internet? Or did she get her thrills by watching other people who were uploading their live sex acts?
He hadn’t bargained for this. What would he do if she asked him to log on to a swingers’ Web site? He remembered what Peterson had said. Don’t let Treeni Delaney ruin you too.
“You’re wondering what this is all about,” Treeni said.
“Well, yeah.”
While he’d been getting his laptop up and running, she’d uncorked a bottle of Moscato d’Asti and poured two glasses. She brought the dessert wine to the table along with a huge slice of cheesecake and two forks. She positioned the cheesecake plate between them and scooted her chair closer to his.
She smelled so good he could hardly think, and her elbow rested just an inch away from his. If he moved his arm to reach for one of the forks, he could touch her. The very thing he’d been dreaming of doing from the moment he’d first set eyes on her.
You and every other heterosexual male on the planet.
The chemical roller-coaster ride carried him at a supersonic clip over rickety wooden tracks. He ached to blend his body with hers, to mate and mix their genetic codes. God, he’d never been so infatuated. He was completely miserable and loving every minute of it.
“Log on to ONI’s Intranet,” she said.
Cosmo studied her, heart thumping madly. “Are you and I up to something illegal?”
“Pretty much.”
“We’re hacking?”
She grinned. “Yep. That scare you off?”
He grinned back. He didn’t care. She was smiling at him. It felt like sunshine and rainbows and four-leaf clovers. “Hell, no. I live to hack.”
“I know. It’s how you got your job at the ONI.”
“You’ve done your research.”
“You’re not the only one who’s thorough, Cosmo Villereal.”
“What are we hacking into?”
“My father’s personal journal entries.”
“Do I smell an Electra complex?”
“Freud was full of crap on so many levels, but I will admit that my father and I have an adversarial relationship. Is that Electra enough for you?”
“Am I going to lose my job over this?” Cosmo wasn’t sure a night with the sexiest woman he’d ever shared cheesecake with was worth losing his job over, but it came pretty damn close.
“Not if you’re as good at this as everyone says you are.”
“Are you using me?” he asked her.
“What do you think?” Her look was inscrutable.
They stared into each other’s eyes over the top of his computer. The air was thick with the vibration of their hormones rising and colliding.
Treeni sliced off a chunk of cheesecake, leaned over and lightly touched it against his lower lip. “Come on, Cos. Take a walk on the wild side.” She winked. “Have a bite.”
Ah, the war zone of the heart. With that sultry look she offered him eternal damnation.
And like Adam to Eve’s fateful, fabled apple, Cosmo bit.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drink this.”
Not knowing what else to do or how else to calm Marlie, Joel had left her grieving over family photographs, gone out to his SUV, retrieved the silver flask he kept in his glove compartment for emergencies just like this one, and brought it back into the house to shove under her nose.
She put up a hand to block the flask. “I don’t want any.”
“Drink it, dammit.”
“What is it with you and whiskey? Are you an alcoholic or something?”
“No,” he growled. “I’m not an alcoholic. Now swallow the stuff before I get a funnel and pour it down your throat.”
He was being an ass and he knew it. But Joel was scared. He had no idea what had happened in Penelope Montague’s house, but he was very afraid it had been fatal.
For some reason, he felt guilty about her mother’s disappearance, as if he were responsible. And feeling guilty made him defensive, and feeling defensive made him aggressive. It was a throwback habit to the days when he had to battle stepfathers in order to survive, and it was a habit he’d never tried to shake.
Plus, he was still feeling unnerved after Marlie’s story of having had a crush on him when she was a kid. What would she say, he wondered, if she knew that he was J. J. Hunter all grown up?
Would she remember him so fondly then?
“Drink it.” He figured if he made her angry enough, he could get her mind off her mother’s fate for a few minutes.
The ploy worked but quickly backfired.
“You want me to drink it, fine.” She shot to her feet, fire blazing in her eyes, slung the photographs onto the bed, and snatched the flask from his hand.
He admired that flash of spunk, loved how it showed up unexpectedly under pressure. She was like a powerful muscle-car engine couched deceptively under the hood of a Volkswagen Beetle. This was a woman you could count on in a crunch, whether she even knew it herself or not.
Marlie twisted the cap from the flask and took a long, inhaling gulp. Coughing, she brought a hand to her mouth. Her face reddened, but when Joel reached for the flask, she batted his arm away and took another swig.
“Easy.”
“You want me calm, I’ll give you dead calm.” She took a third swallow.
“Marlie.” He held out his palm. She was beginning to scare him. “Give me the flask.”
Her face went from red to green-tinged. She groaned and splayed a hand over her belly. Belatedly, Joel realized that he was standing between her and the bathroom door. He sidestepped out of the way just in the nick of time.
She barely made it to the toilet before she threw up.
The sounds of her retching stirred his sympathy. He’d worshiped the porcelain god a time or two himself and knew how miserable it was.
She kept heaving long after the alcohol emptied from her stomach.
Aw, hell. He hadn’t meant to make her upchuck. Poor kid.
He wasn’t too good at this nursemaid stuff, but since it was his fault she was puking, he felt obligated to do what he could to soothe her. Joel stepped to the bathroom cupboard, located a washcloth, doused it in cold water, and then squatted beside her. Awkwardl
y, he lifted her chin, brushed back her hair, and bathed her face. He could hear her ragged breathing, feel her rib cage rise and fall with each jagged respiration.
God, he was an overbearing ass, pushing too hard, forgetting that adversity didn’t bring out the best in everyone the way it did him.
Uncool. The things he was feeling. Sympathy, guilt, tenderness. Definitely uncool. He remembered something Gus used to say to him whenever he let tender emotions show. Feelings are for females and fools.
She rocked back on her heels away from him, pressing the back of a hand against her mouth and glowering at him. “Happy now?”
He brought her a plastic cup of mouthwash from the bottle perched on the bathroom sink. Apologies didn’t come easy for Joel. Normally he viewed them as a sign of weakness, but he was working on reaching down deep inside and chiseling one out when they heard a crash from another room.
It sounded like something had fallen or had been knocked to the floor.
Their eyes met and the silent question arced unspoken between them. Was there someone else in the house?
“The assassin.” Marlie whispered the very same thought that was circling Joel’s brain.
A split second later, the kitchen smoke alarm began to shriek.
Dear God. What now? The plastic cup of Listerine that Joel had brought her dropped from Marlie’s hand.
“Stay here,” he said and whipped a gun from the waistband of his pants.
Marlie’s eyes widened. He had a gun!
Who was this guy? And what had she gotten herself into? She’d known better than to accept a ride from him. Why oh why had she gotten into his SUV? Why hadn’t she listened to her gut? She’d known better. She didn’t need him. She could take care of herself. She had a canister of Mace in her purse and she had smoke bombs.
Um, yeah. Smoke bombs.
“Hold on a minute.” She had to shout over the noise and grab onto Joel’s belt loop to snag his attention. “I think maybe it’s not an intruder after all.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Then what is it? Your mom have an arsonist cat?”
“The noise we heard could have been my purse falling off the bar.”
