by Lori Wilde
“Look,” he relented. “I understand your concern for your sister. I promise I’ll give Cassie the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’m coming with you,” she repeated, enunciating each word clearly as if speaking to a particularly slow child.
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“Please don’t make me go over there and ask those security guards to detain you. Neither one of us needs the hassle.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally she sucked in a deep breath and whispered, “Okay, fine, have it your way.”
Maddie spun around, but her heel must have caught on something. She teetered precariously, then stumbled against him, reaching out with both hands to grab his jacket lapel to keep from falling.
The brim of her hat smashed him in the chin. Her firm, high breasts grazed his arm.
At the feel of her palms against his chest, instant heat pricked his groin. His body’s inappropriate response to their physical contact irritated him. He battled against his lust.
It was so weird that she turned him on when her identical twin sister did not. What was that all about?
“Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly righting herself, and then without another word turned and sashayed off.
Watching her go, he was unsettled to discover he felt disappointed and it took him a minute or two to figure out why. It was because she’d given up so easily. He’d been looking forward to more of a fight.
Flustered, he shouldered his carry-on and moved once again toward the scanners. The line had grown longer since his encounter with Maddie. Impatiently, he glanced at his watch. He had less than ten minutes to board the plane.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot and rolled his eyes when a lady with tons of gold jewelry kept setting off the alarm. Finally, his turn came.
Just as he went to remove his duty weapon from his shoulder holster and check it in, an armed security guard tapped him on the collarbone. “Excuse me, sir, if you could just step over here.”
What now?
He followed the guard to a small, enclosed area where two uniformed Dallas police officers stood, guns drawn.
What in hell . . . ?
“Hands on your head,” one of the policemen said.
“I’m FBI.” David raised his arms. He knew they were only doing their job and he tried hard not to lose his temper. “I’m on the trail of a suspect and it’s imperative I make my flight.”
“The lady who reported you carrying a concealed weapon said you would claim that.” The second officer moved around David and relieved him of his gun.
“Lady? What lady?”
“The one you’ve been harassing.”
“What!”
“No sudden movements,” the first officer said.
“I’ve got my ID right here.” David made a motion to go for his badge. “I can prove I’m FBI.”
“I said don’t move!” the first officer trilled and pointed his weapon right at David’s head.
“Where’s your ID?” the second officer asked.
“Right breast pocket.”
The man patted him down. “Nothing here.”
“Try the other pocket.” David felt like an idiot standing with his palms pressed against the back of his head, his elbows sticking out, getting frisked by Officer Overzealous.
Where was his badge? Had he left it in his car? But he couldn’t have done that. The badge was as much of an extension of himself as his arm or his leg. He didn’t forget it and he didn’t lose it.
“Not here.”
“It’s there somewhere,” he said through clenched teeth. “Look again.”
“Last call for flight 234 to Atlanta,” came the announcement over the speaker system.
Shit. He was going to miss the plane.
Then, all at once, David realized what had happened.
Maddie Cooper.
If he hadn’t been so distracted by his body’s very physical reaction to her, he would have caught on sooner. Her clumsy stumble against him had been no accident.
The unprincipled wench had picked his pocket and stolen his badge.
Cassie Cooper sprawled in a lounge chair outside the Hyatt Regency on Seven Mile Beach in Grand Cayman. She was sipping a piña colada and enjoying the afternoon sun and the salty ocean breeze blowing over her bikinied body. This sure was a great change of pace from damp, dreary Fort Worth in February.
Not three feet away, Peyton lay on a massage table beneath a cabana getting a Swedish massage from a tanned island girl.
Taking a long pull on her straw, Cassie twirled the pink paper parasol in her drink and marveled at her opulent surroundings. She still couldn’t believe she’d convinced Peyton to bring her with him.
Mentally, she patted herself on the back. She was quite the little actress.
When David Marshall called her last night to set up a rendezvous she’d sensed something was up, even though he’d acted nonchalant.
For one thing, he’d asked her to bring all the evidence she’d gathered over the past few weeks to the meeting.
For another thing, ever since her accident as a kid when she had spent three months in a coma, she occasionally experienced a weird sort of hotness at the very base of her brain. The sensation almost always preceded an unexpected turn of events. While she’d been talking to David, her brain had started its familiar sizzle.
And she had just known, for whatever reason, David was going to pull the plug on her role as his informant.
She couldn’t allow him to dump her. Not now. Not when she’d worked so hard. As they’d talked, a spontaneous plan spun in her head. A plan destined to make her the toast of the art world and the darling of the FBI.
A plan to prove to Maddie that she could not only take care of herself, but thrive in the process. A plan to show everyone that she was as tough and strong and smart as her twin.
And Cassie had come up with the perfect obstacle to keep David preoccupied while she carried out her strategy. That was when she had phoned Maddie and asked her to meet her in Forest Park at eight-fifteen. She knew David would mistake Maddie for her. She also knew Maddie would give him hell. Especially if he told her that he had recruited Cassie to work for the FBI.
She grinned and rubbed her palms together just thinking about those two at each other’s throats. What would be really nice was if for once Maddie got into trouble and had to turn to David for help. That way the tension between them just might turn into something delectable.
Once she had that problem solved, Cassie had jumped in with both feet, simply trusting that everything would work out the way she wanted.
Boldly, she had gone to Peyton and told him everything. How she had been working with the FBI to catch him, how she knew of his scheme to use her security clearance to get into the Kimbell and steal paintings.
At first, Peyton tried to deny it, but then she’d smoothly lied and told him she didn’t care if he was an art thief or that he’d been using her.
She professed her love for him regardless of his past. She wanted to be his girlfriend and if he would take her with him, she would use her friendship with the curator at the Museo del Prado in Madrid to help him make off with a fortune. She had detailed a robbery so daring he’d quickly grown excited at the possibilities.
Greed had him agreeing to include her in his escapades. He’d fallen for her lie, hook, line and sinker. And here she was, an FBI operative, about to catch one of the world’s most elusive art thieves.
Okay, so technically she was no longer working for the FBI since David had been about to pull her off the case, but Cassie was certain once he realized the lengths she’d gone to in order to stay in good with Shriver, he would apologize for not having more faith in her.
“Happy, luv?” Peyton called to her from the massage table.
“Terribly.”
God, she was a sucker for a British accent. Cassie grinned and ignored the twinge of guilt.
She had to keep remindi
ng herself Peyton was a notorious criminal who had conned over a dozen hapless women with his suave bullshit. If she didn’t keep that bit of information at the front of her mind, she would end up thinking about how gorgeous his blue eyes were and how cute he looked with his thick ebony hair tousled so boyishly by the tropical breeze.
She sighed and took a caviar canapé off the silver tray presented to her by a tuxedoed waiter. If it weren’t for Peyton’s nasty habit of taking expensive things that didn’t belong to him, he would be the perfect man. He certainly knew how to live the good life.
Don’t forget your real goal. This is about proving you can stand on your own two feet. This is about showing Maddie you don’t need her hovering over you.
Still, it was a shame about Peyton.
Cassie stretched and wriggled her toes. She’d just painted them a lovely shade of Wanton Sunset.
However, there was one teeny little flaw with her plan. How was she going to let David know what she was up to without arousing Peyton’s suspicions?
She couldn’t just pick up a phone and blurt it out. She had packed in such a hurry she’d forgotten her wallet. She only had her clothes and her passport. She was living it up on the grace of Peyton’s largess. She couldn’t even call from the hotel phone. They’d charge it to his account.
But Cassie didn’t want the hunky FBI man thinking she had fallen under Peyton’s spell and become his cohort in crime. One way or the other, she would find a way to send David clues.
“So,” she said, sliding her sunglasses back up on her nose and trying her best to act cool and nonchalant, as if she didn’t really care about his answer. “What do you have planned for the Cézanne, darling?”
Peyton smirked. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. The details are in the bag.”
“My, you are efficient.” She managed to control her curiosity, knowing if she pushed too hard, too quickly, Peyton would kite her like a hot check. Being a spy was a tricky proposition.
“I’ve got a present for you,” Peyton said, and then grimaced as the masseuse plowed her knuckles over his shoulder blade.
“Oh?” Cassie grinned. She loved unexpected gifts.
Peyton shooed the masseuse away, sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the massage table. He slid to the sand, slipped his feet into black rubber flip-flops and held out his hand to her.
“Let’s take a walk.”
Parking her piña colada on the small table beside her lounge chair, Cassie squinted up at him. He was backlit by the sun and the cabana cast a dark shadow over his face, giving him an ominous appearance. The breeze picked up, raising the hairs on her forearm and illogically her heart stuttered.
“Cassie?” His hand was still extended.
“Uh-huh?” She felt dizzy, from either the sun or his presence. Maybe both. Suddenly, she was very nervous.
Peyton inclined his head toward the beach. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Okay.” She forced herself to smile brightly.
She sank her palm, still damp and cool from the condensation of her glass, into his hard, hot hand. His grip seemed unnecessarily firm. She gulped.
Did he suspect something? Was he on to her?
You’re imagining things. Don’t start assuming the worst. That’s Maddie’s job.
If Maddie could only see her now! Her sister would have a shit fit.
Eventually, she was going to have to get a message to her too.
Cassie ignored the annoying thought. She curled her bare toes into the warm sand as they walked, allowing Peyton to guide her closer to the ocean.
Watch out! He could try something funny. Pull you into the water and take you under. Maddie’s ultra-cautious voice echoed in her head.
Pooh. Cassie shoved the irritating noise aside.
After they’d traveled several yards up the beach away from the other sun worshipers, Peyton stopped walking. He took both of her hands in his and gazed deeply into her eyes.
“I’ve never met a woman quite like you,” Peyton murmured.
Cassie felt herself blush. “Why, thank you.”
“And I want to trust you.”
“You can,” she lied glibly.
And the Oscar goes to Cassie Cooper. For her mesmerizing role as art museum public relations gal turned special agent for the FBI.
“How far would you go to prove your devotion to me?” he asked, his eyes growing deeper, darker.
Gulp.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. What had seemed like a fool-proof plot last night in Forth Worth, Texas, was starting to look like a not-so-brilliant plan on the clean white sand of Seven Mile Beach.
“What do you mean?”
“I have to know that I can trust you with my life.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m afraid I need more reassurance than just your word.”
“What’s it gonna take?”
“I was hoping you would ask me that question.” He let go of her left hand and fumbled in the pocket of his swim trunks.
When he produced a small black velvet box, Cassie thought she might swoon or throw up or start laughing maniacally. This wasn’t her first proposal and all three reactions were within the realm of possibility.
He cracked the box open, revealing a dramatic two-carat marquis-cut diamond engagement ring.
Her knees quivered and she had to hold on to his arm to keep from toppling over.
“Marry me, Cassie.”
“Marry you?” her voice wobbled, as tremulous as her legs.
“I know it’s sudden, but I’m as crazy for you as you are for me,” Peyton purred. “Together, we’ll make an awesome team, traveling the world, stealing our treasures, living the high life.”
“Uh-huh.” She breathed.
“And besides . . .” His grin was wicked. “A wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband.”
Oh, ho. Here was the real reason for his impromptu proposal. The diamond winked, beckoning her to gamble everything for her ultimate goal.
What the hell? Why not say yes? Before she had to actually prove herself by marrying him, she intended on seeing his handsome butt locked up behind bars.
Mores the pity.
“Yes, Peyton,” she said and met his gaze head on. “I’ll marry you.”
He slipped the ring on her left hand, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard and long. When he released her at last, he pressed his mouth against her ear.
“But it has to happen tonight,” he whispered. “I’ve made all the arrangements. If you are truly on my side, then you must marry me at dusk at my friend’s estate on Dead Man’s Bay.”
Chapter
FOUR
MISS,” THE FLIGHT attendant glowered at Maddie. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop pacing and take your seat. You’re making the other passengers nervous.”
“Sorry,” Maddie mumbled and returned to her cramped seat at the back of the plane. Her hefty, ruddy-faced seatmate shot his eyes heavenward and polished off his third bloody Mary before lumbering to his feet and letting her squeeze in next to the window.
She hated flying. For that matter, she hated traveling. She was a creature of comfort and missed her habits. Her short-lived Olympic career had been a royal pain in the keister, shuttling from tournament to tournament on buses, in planes, taking the train.
The only reason she had stuck with it as long as she had was because being an Olympian made her feel strong and in control of her life at a time when she’d desperately needed all the strength she could muster to look after her calamity-courting twin.
She needed double that strength now.
Her gut told her David Marshall wasn’t going to relent in his position against Cassie. It was her gut that had instigated the backup plan to filch his FBI badge and then sic security on him as a gun-toting loony.
That was why she had worn Cassie’s ridiculous high heels and her outlandish straw hat. The heels had been an excuse to lose her balance
. The hat had been to camouflage his view of her larcenous hands.
And it had worked.
Her intention had been to get David detained long enough for her to make the flight and for him to miss it. Once she’d turned him in to security, she had slipped over to a different terminal to check in and had gone on to board the plane.
She knew David could unsnarl the tangle she’d wrapped him in pretty quickly, but all she’d needed was a head start. If she could get to Grand Cayman before he did, she would have a few precious hours in which to find Cassie. She intended on rescuing her sister from Shriver and bringing her home before the hard-assed Officer Marshall got his hands on her.
By the time David caught up with them, Maddie would have hired the best lawyer she could afford. She would even take out a second mortgage on her condo if she had to. Anything for her sister.
The brightness of the sun reflecting off the field of white clouds floating below the plane’s wing hurt her eyes. And the weary, dogged sound of the engines made her feel oddly alone. She burrowed in her handbag for her drugstore sunglasses, slipped them on and wondered if David was already on another flight.
David Marshall. Mister My-Way-or-the-Highway.
Hmmph. Imagine. That irritating man telling her she couldn’t go search for her own sister. Like he and what army were going to stop her?
She would have given a month’s pay to be a fly on the wall when he had tried to flash his badge for airport security and found it gone. She grinned at the idea, but then she immediately felt contrite for taking pleasure in his misfortune.
She wasn’t a malicious person. She’d only absconded with his ID badge because there had been no other way around him. She’d given him a legitimate chance to take her along and he had refused.
Idly, she wondered about him. Was he married? He didn’t wear a ring. But who cared? It wasn’t as if she was interested in him. He was far too annoying and bossy and pigheaded. The guy had the personality of a steamroller. Plus, he actually seemed to enjoy locking horns with her.
Who needed that kind of aggravation? Certainly not she. Cassie created enough commotion in her life.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re making our approach to George Town and the pilot has switched on the seat belt sign. Please remain seated for the duration of the flight,” the flight attendant announced over the intercom.
