by Nancy Radke
She must find a ladder. If Ryan was fighting with the intruder, he wouldn't be able to help.
"Angie! Here!" Ryan lay on the dock, his arms extend towards her. Ducking under the pipe, she swam over to where he could reach her, his grip strong enough to hurt as he pulled her upwards. He wasn't about to let her slip back in.
"Did he get away?" she gasped as they regained their feet. His pajamas were covered with snow, but he didn't seem to notice that or her question.
"Inside. Quick."
Dripping water blurred her eyes and she wiped her face. The freezing night air chilled her more than the lake. It rapidly drained what strength she had left, but she was still furious about being used against Ryan. "If he hadn't tossed me in, you could've— "
"He might've shot you. He wasn't particular how he created a diversion. You shouldn't have fought him."
"Well, thanks." Angie started to limp towards the houseboat on bare feet so numb she no longer noticed them. The blue shirt plastered itself tightly against her, soaked and heavy.
"Independent woman," she heard him mutter. Still muttering under his breath, Ryan caught her up and bore her rapidly across the ramp and through the open door.
Banging it shut with his heel, he continued up to the bathroom. Both were shaking by the time they reached the shower and Ryan turned the water on. The stream hit her as he lowered her to her feet.
"Ow, that's hot."
"Barely warm," he corrected.
Gradually he raised the temperature until it reached normal, supporting her with one arm while she regained strength. Recovery came fairly quick as the period of immersion had been short. The sharp tingling left her skin, to be replaced by comfortable warmth.
"I'm better now." She grasped the soap holder, but found to her delight that he continued to hold her, his arm a strong and secure protection. "Where did he go?"
He leaned closer to adjust the water again; stayed close. "He had a speed boat next to the dock." His tone sounded soft, tender, as if speaking words of love— his eyes shining as if he had won a prize. Angie's heartbeat quickened in response as she tried to read the meaning in his gaze. Was he happy because the intruder had gone, or that she had come out unhurt?
"Shouldn't you lock the front door?" she asked, turning her face up to his, inches away.
He considered her question reluctantly. "Later."
"What if he comes back?" she worried aloud.
"No problem. He wouldn't have you as a shield." He moved his arm, stepping away, and she had to fight the desire to pull him back. With a liberal hand, he poured shampoo over her hair. "You smell like Lake Union."
Laughing, she held one hand over her eyes as he massaged the shampoo in. She tipped her face upwards, eyes closed, sighing as his strong, gentle fingers slowly worked the suds through her hair. "That's nice."
She felt cherished by him, loved— a feeling of perfect harmony. Had the dangers of the past hour magnified his feelings, also, so that like and respect had turned to love... and desire?
Or was he just washing her hair because it stunk? She mulled it over all through the rinse, her heart skyrocketing when he finalized his actions with just a touch of a kiss near the bruise on her neck.
"That's going to be purple tomorrow." His voice sounded low, husky, wonderful to hear.
Her lids flicked open in surprise, finding his perceptive brown eyes a hand's-breadth away. His face was as wet as hers, his smile sensuous. She could’ve drowned in the look he gave her.
"I can hardly feel it," she exclaimed, unsettled by the strength of emotion churning within. She raised her hand, then dropped it as she fought against the desire to pull him close. "He was pretty rough."
Ryan’s gaze changed, hardening as he spoke. "You had me worried... I thought you were going to fight him."
"I would’ve, if he hadn't had that gun."
"Few things are worth your life, Angie. Remember that. Especially money. Or in this case, a set of CDs easily replaced. Remember, I told you they’re encrypted. I'll set out a bandage for you." He stepped out, grabbing a towel, and she could hear him moving around in the bathroom.
“But I thought he got both the system and the installation CD this time.”
“He did. But they were ones I’d made to leave at Scott’s office. They were filled with booby traps and no information.”
“He didn’t get the real ones?”
“No.”
“You’re good, you know that?”
He didn’t answer. "I'll bring you another shirt," he said, and went out.
The blue shirt she had on refused to be unbuttoned. It took both hands to get free. Finally she peeled it and the khaki shorts off and let them fall to the shower floor. Stripping off her ankle bandage, she wadded it up; she could put on a fresh wrap in the morning.
A few more minutes spent with soap and water and Angie felt like herself again. A large fluffy towel finished the warming process. His wet pajamas lay in a soggy puddle in the middle of the floor— he must’ve stripped when he stepped out— and she tossed them into the shower to drain with her things.
The abrasion on her neck felt sore and she touched it gingerly. She had been lucky the gun hadn’t gone off.
She had swallowed a mouthful of dirty lake water and had drunk more under the shower. It wasn't at all how she had planned to get a drink, but at least she was no longer thirsty.
The red and black check lumberjack shirt Ryan handed in through the doorway was older than the blue. It lacked the top two buttons, which was probably why he hadn't given it to her earlier. Nevertheless it felt soft and comfy. If anything, it looked more provocative than the blue.
The khaki shorts were too wet to wear, but somehow she didn't seem to mind. She was too happy.
Angie was wringing out their clothes when Ryan knocked on the door. "Come in," she called.
"Everything okay?" He had on tee shirt, jeans and an old pair of moccasins. His gaze swept over her, flared, was swiftly banked down and averted.
"Yes. I'll let you hang these up."
"They need the washer." Not looking at her, he took them and went downstairs. She stopped by the office door, her mind replaying events, and looked up when he returned.
"He seemed to know a lot... about you and the CDs."
Ryan frowned, considering her implication. "We’ve two dead men, who you say tried to get those CDs at the office. Now we’ve one live man trying for the same thing. If he shot our second thief, then he’s also a murderer."
"Except he sounded like someone else had sent him— someone who knew all about you and what they wanted.”
“So I noticed.”
“Are those CDs all that important?"
"They are to MXOIL."
“Are you going to call the police?”
“Yes. They need to know he might be a killer. He kept his gloves on. I doubt there are any prints around, but they may want to check for evidence. We’ll see.”
"Shall we try for bed again?" she suggested.
"Sounds okay to me," he said, but her innocent suggestion brought back the smile on his lips.
"Then good night." She wouldn't be able to pull back if he kissed her now. Her lips were already anticipating his.
He must have felt it too, for he stopped short and a flame lit in his eyes, a hint of passion in them that wasn't there before. He stroked her hair tentatively, bringing one finger under her ear and across the lines of her chin, stopping at her lips. A trail of fire followed the delicate touch and her lips parted unconsciously.
I recognize that look, Angie thought. He wants me— and I have no desire to stop him. I love him.
As his lips questioned, hers gave, generous in their giving. She couldn’t help it. After that prelude to a kiss earlier, in the shower, her body had been silently waiting and wasn’t to be denied. Her instant yielding inflamed him more and his touch grew more possessive as his hands sought the soft warmth of her body pressed against his.
The kiss spun them
both into a cocoon of sensation, oblivious to anything but the quest of discovering each other. As it continued to grow in intensity, her knees buckled and he lifted her closer in support. In the process her right foot knocked against his leg— and she gasped with pain.
She could feel the moment he clamped down on himself, exerting the self-control developed from hours of constant training. It couldn’t be a lessening of his desire or any resistance from her—she had offered him none. Instead, her vulnerability had forced upon him a greater restraint than if she had had some form of protection.
It was at that moment, as he pulled himself away with a rueful shake of his head, that Angie fully realized how close she had come to surrendering to him. The will to resist had been discarded with her clothing. It hadn’t returned yet. And although she felt sure she loved this man, Angie had always determined that the ring would come first.
She figured if a man loved her, really loved her, he should value her enough to marry her. Life was too uncertain for non-commitments. But when making her decision, she hadn't counted on having to fight her own traitorous feelings.
He supported her trembling figure with one hand while the other slowly and carefully straightened the shirt— in itself a caress, the small act of tenderness bringing a lump to Angie's throat. She stood shakily on one foot, waiting patiently as he finished.
Part of her lack of defense was the physical situation, but his kiss had completely destroyed her emotional barriers, making her body ache for his touch. Deep within her, love sought release. Unreasoning, unquestioning, it forced its way upward, sweeping her along in an emotional flash flood.
Her love soared over her willpower at the moment and she felt herself wanting to give her all to this man.
Then Grandfather struck four notes, reminding them of the hour.
"Good morning, Angie." Smiling, Ryan gave a small shrug and admitted, wryly, "I can't say my home is any safer to sleep in than Scott's office. We'll have to fix that."
"Did you lock up?"
He nodded his head. "Yes. But I better look to my own personal security."
"What more can you do?"
"A dog would help. I've already got dead-bolts and an alarm system. I just checked everything. I had neglected to arm the system, but I don't see how he got by the dead-bolt."
"Did he come through a window?"
“No. The snow on the sills hasn’t been disturbed. It had to be the door. No sign of forced entry. Nothing's damaged. We’ve a locked door mystery. How did he get in?"
"It doesn't look good for a security person to get robbed," she teased.
"Not much. Security people tend to forget to secure their own offices. But we’re protected, here and downtown. What is it with you and locked doors? Unless...." He stopped, his face changing, as if struck with horror.
"Yes?"
"Unless...." He took a step backwards, drawing himself to his full height, hands tense. As if in pain, he closed his eyes as he spoke. "No. No."
12
"What is it?" Angie demanded, clasping Ryan’s arm in alarm. He looked ill, his face a funeral white, eyes stricken with anguish.
"Unless someone... opened... the door." The words were torn from him.
The implied accusation slashed against her happiness with whip-like cruelty, destroying her dreams. "How can you think such a thing? He threw me in the lake."
“You weren’t in any real danger. I’d have dived in and pulled you out.” Bitterness marred his features. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been fooled by a woman with the face of an angel. There are no other possibilities. He either had a key or you opened the door." He shoved his fingers through his hair as if trying to tear out the thought. "Did you open it, Angie?"
"No." Her protest sounded weak— her throat constricted by a force stronger than the intruder's arm.
"He didn't come through a window, nor the back door. There’re no fresh tracks in the snow. So I'm asking you one more time. Did you let him in?"
He stood there, staring at her; his eyes accusing, his lips set in a grim line.
His words effectively shattered the last remnants of her vision of love. He didn't believe her; probably never had, his suspicious mind always questioning her actions and motives. She had been foolish to think he might be starting to love her.
She could see no way to defend herself. No way to regain his trust. He’d looked at the evidence and drawn his own conclusions. It would forever stand between them, a wall of distrust ruining any chance of their finding happiness together.
"No. I did not let him in." There was nothing else to say and she dropped her gaze and walked away. She’d leave tomorrow morning, no matter what.
* * *
Ryan watched Angie limp toward his guest room, his faith in her honesty almost nil. In spite of his feelings for her, she had to be involved. Too many things pointed to it.
What was going on? What made MXOIL so important? Well, what made any oil company’s records important? Research and development. New drilling sites— perhaps discovered but not claimed or leased.
When he’d pulled out the “X” numbered ones to hand to the thief, Ryan had quickly slipped the good CDs for MXOIL into a stack of paper. He now retrieved them and made two new “X” copies, wondering as he did so if the thief would make another attempt after he wiped out a second computer.
To be on the safe side, Ryan changed the numbers on the good copies, then set up another set with the old numbers and just enough information to make them look real. If he was sheltering the thief’s accomplice in his home, she’d most likely take that set.
Next Ryan called MXOIL’s security officer, Jim Markum, and told him about the second attempt. “Keep a close watch. If they ever do steal both CDs, I can’t guarantee—”
“Why not make your dummy CDs send them to the ‘trap’ you set up?”
“You still have it running?”
“Yes. And monitored twenty-four seven.”
“I’ll do that.”
Hanging up, Ryan took out the two dummy CDs he had made and added the trap to the program. Then he called the Seattle police, speaking briefly to his friend, Detective Eric Hayes. He gave him Officer Granger’s name and badge number and mentioned Ted and the thief who had been shot.
“It doesn’t make sense. Computer thieves don’t rob jewelry stores,” Ryan said. “So I’m inclined to think they weren’t involved. But add their names to the case. You’ll have to call the coroner for the second man’s name.”
“You still want to handle this?”
“Sure. I’ll keep you posted. I’m making a list of possible suspects.”
He heard a noise behind him and turned. Angie stood there. She’d overheard him. Nothing new.
What was new was the expression in her eyes. As of this morning the light no longer shone and he felt guilty of extinguishing it. Which wasn’t right— he shouldn’t feel guilty. He looked away, at a loss for words.
The phone rang and he answered it, glad of the interruption. It was one of the neighbors calling—he had gotten a group together to clear the parking area and entrance lane. The city was sanding the side street today, so the tenants would be able to drive out.
Ryan hung up, shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet; refusing to dwell in depression. "I'm going to shovel snow. Come watch.” It would keep Angie out of his office.
He grabbed a small folding shovel and led the way out into the frozen world. Everything sparkled like bright diamonds in the sunshine, the glare blinding in its intensity. A noisy group of around ten school kids played out on the end of the dock, enjoying their unscheduled vacation.
The kids spotted them and came running, yelling at Ryan.
“What are they asking?” Angie said.
“They want to climb the wall. Always.”
“What wall?”
“Come look.”
The children surrounded them, and he waved his hand to quiet them. “Easy. One at a time.”
“Wh
o’s she?” The tallest boy, a youth in his teens, pointed at Angie.
“Angie Reid. She’s working for me.”
“Cool. Can we climb?”
“Only if there’s no ice on the holds.”
“There isn’t. We looked.”
“Use the ropes.”
“Right. No one wants to fall in the water this time of year.”
* * *
With the kids surging around them, Angie followed Ryan along the slippery surface to where she could see the north side of his houseboat.
A climbing wall had been fastened there, with a short section over the deck and a larger section reaching up to the flat roof over an area where the deck had been removed. If someone fell from the higher elevation, they landed in the water. Angie could immediately see how much fun that would be in the summer and guessed that Ryan’s houseboat must be covered with kids all year long.
“Neat idea,” she told the group. “I can’t wait for my ankle to heal.”
“I put it up for the exercise. Didn’t think about the kids till— “
“Till we invaded,” the oldest teenager said with a grin. “He had to teach us, to get any peace. I’m Kent. This is Blake, and Rebecca, and Garrett, and Chase, and Selina, and...” He went through the names, pointing to each, and Angie nodded appropriately, completely lost.
“Hello to all of you.”
“Ryan climbs it with his fingers only,” Kent explained, “but we can all make it to the top now except for Thaddaeus.” He pointed to the youngest who looked to be in Kindergarten. “He can’t quite reach some of the holds. The hard holds, the ones where you can only use a couple of fingers, are the ones Ryan uses. You should see him on the wall.” His admiration evident, the boy flexed his own fingers, testing their strength.
“Do you have to come back down? I mean, could you climb onto the roof and then go inside?” she asked, noticing that it looked possible.
“Yes,” Ryan answered. “Right over the low wall and onto the upper deck where we watched the sunset last night.”
“Then could the thief...” Her mind raced ahead of her words.
