by Sharon Sala
She grinned and punched him on the arm, not realizing it was their first friendly exchange.
“It will be a cold day in hell before I go anywhere near a bed with you.”
Mac grinned back and pointed out the window. “Wrong choice of words, girl. Have you looked outside lately?”
She looked startled, then laughed as she moved toward the refrigerator, unaware that Mac hadn’t followed.
For Mac, movement at that moment would have been impossible. He’d been intrigued by her smile, but her laughter had struck him dumb. He caught himself watching the sway of her hips and the lithe motion of her body as she leaned forward to peer into the refrigerator.
Oh man…this isn’t happening. I won’t let this happen.
And then she turned around, a jar of peanut butter in one hand, a jar of dill pickles in the other.
“Mac?”
“Huh?
“Do you like peanut butter sandwiches?”
He looked at the jar of oversize green dills with dismay. “With pickles?”
“I have jelly.”
“Sold.”
She eyed him curiously. “Somehow I pictured you as a more adventurous sort of man.”
“Adventure is one thing, gastronomic disaster is another.”
She set the jars on the counter and reached back into the refrigerator for the bread and jelly.
Mac set his jaw and strode toward the sink to wash his hands. He wasn’t going to let this thing happen, and that was that. They would eat peanut butter. They would fuss. They might even have the occasional amiable conversation. But there would not be any more kisses, that was for damned sure.
The phone rang as he was drying his hands. Caitlin answered, balancing the phone against her ear and shoulder as she spread a dollop of peanut butter across a slice of bread.
“Hello?”
“Miss Bennett, Detective Neil here. How are you feeling?”
Caitlin smiled, still holding the peanut butter as she leaned against the wall.
“Detective Neil, how kind of you to call. I’m doing quite well, actually. Of course, I won’t win any beauty contests, but then, I don’t think that would have been possible before the accident, either, so I can’t say all that much has changed.”
“I disagree completely,” J.R. said.
Caitlin smiled.
“Thank you, but I think you’re just being kind.”
From across the room, Mac watched the play of emotions coming and going on her face. The way she was cuddling that phone was disgusting, and that stupid smile she was wearing was a total disgrace. He yanked the jar of peanut butter out of her hands, slammed two pieces of bread on his plate, slathered one side with peanut butter, the other with grape jelly, and slapping them together just as Caitlin giggled. He didn’t care what she did. It didn’t matter to him who turned her on or off. All he wanted was some food and a plane ticket back to Georgia. Chewing angrily, he poured himself a cup of coffee and then stalked to the window, realizing as he did so that he’d done little else since he’d been here but get hard for Caitlin and stare out windows.
Damned snow. Stupid, eternally miserable damned snow.
She laughed again. His nostrils flared as he tore a bite from the sandwich, his eyes narrowing angrily as he dug a hunk of peanut butter from the roof of his mouth with his tongue, then began to chew.
Damned stupid peanut butter. Then he realized the phone call was coming to an end and turned just as Caitlin said her goodbyes.
“That would be lovely,” Caitlin said. “Yes, and thank you for calling.”
She hung up the phone, the smile still on her face, and looked around for the peanut butter to finish making her sandwich. Mac swallowed his bite as he watched her, listening to the clink of the knife against the plate, the soft, almost nonexistent sound of her breathing, and then inhaling the tangy scent of dill as she opened the jar of pickles. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Well?”
Caitlin looked up, surprised by the tone of his voice.
“Well what?”
“It was the cop, wasn’t it?”
“Oh…well, yes, it was, actually.”
“Did he have anything new on your case?”
She frowned as she licked a smear of peanut butter from the end of her finger.
“I don’t think so. Actually he called just to check on me. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Mac slammed his half-eaten sandwich back on the plate and set his coffee cup down on the cabinet, a sarcastic smirk on his face.
“Yes, Caitlin, it was nice…so nice. In fact, I don’t think I can remember a time when anyone was nicer.”
Taken aback by his sarcasm, Caitlin was at a momentary loss for words.
“Well,” she muttered, and then got her second wind, “I think you’re behaving rather childishly. What’s wrong with someone asking after my health?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop acting so weird,” she said, as she resumed making her sandwich. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
“Not in this lifetime,” he said, managing a weak chuckle while his legs went weak. Oh God, oh God. I am.
He looked around frantically for something to do and, in a panic, picked up his sandwich and took another big bite. But the more he chewed, the more certain he became that his life was out of control. He’d come to help his brother, not fall for some straitlaced bookworm who treated him as if he was only one rung above a snake.
Caitlin cut her sandwich into four pieces, then carried her plate to the table.
“Mmm,” she said, rolling her eyes in satisfaction as she took her first bite.
Mac felt himself gulp. If he could figure out how to become as attractive to her as that damned peanut butter and pickle sandwich, he would be in like Flynn.
“I need to make a few calls,” he said. “Check on the business…that sort of thing.”
“Feel free,” Caitlin said as she took another bite.
“Nothing’s free in this life,” he murmured, and walked out of the room.
Eight
Mac tossed aside the letters and then stood, a deep frown etched upon his forehead. He’d just reread the entire file of threatening letters that Caitlin had received, and the acceleration of anger in each one seemed so obvious, he still couldn’t believe the police had ever hesitated. Even from the start, the letters had crossed the line.
Yesterday he’d faxed them to a friend who was a profiler for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Now all he could do was wait to see if his personal analysis was right. His gut feeling was that Caitlin Bennett’s life was in imminent danger. But how to track a faceless enemy? He’d been a good cop, and he was an even better businessman than he’d believed he would be, but unless they got a really big break in this case, Caitlin was going to be just what she was right now—a sitting duck, waiting for the hunter to pull the trigger.
“What do you think?”
He turned. Caitlin was in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side in a questioning manner.
I think you look good enough to eat. “I think you were right to be concerned. I think whoever is writing these is past crazy.”
Her face paled.
Though he hated the fear on her face, it was still only fair to tell her the truth as he knew it.
“I’m waiting for a call from a friend in the Bureau. Maybe she’ll be able to help us.”
“What kind of a friend?” Caitlin asked, her interest piqued.
“A profiler.”
“Oh!” Interest replaced her fear as she thought about her book in progress. “Do you think when she calls I might talk to her?”
Mac sighed. “Caitie, I don’t know if—”
“It’s this book I’m working on,” she said. “I’m stuck on this scene and I thought if—”
He started to laugh. “God, but you’re something, you know that?”
“What’s so funny?”
> “You’ve got a crazed fan writing you death threats. You got mowed down by a truck. And all you’re interested in is getting research for a book.”
She grinned, a bit self-conscious. “Okay, so you’ve found us out.”
“Us, who?” Mac asked.
“Us writers. I’m afraid it’s a common failing we have, to take life experiences and store them like a squirrel stores nuts. It’s in our genes. Never know when we might need to use something in a book.”
He frowned. “Hell. I better not show up in one of those stories.”
She smiled primly. “Of course not…unless, of course, I ever need a male chauvinist character with tunnel vision toward women.”
“I don’t have tunnel vision toward women.”
She chose not to remind him that he hadn’t denied being a male chauvinist.
“I’m willing to bet you do,” she countered.
Interested in spite of himself, the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “What kind of bet?”
She thought a moment and then started to smile. “If I win, I want to go to the park and make a snowman.”
“Hell’s bells, Caitie, it’s freezing out there.”
“But it quit snowing.”
He sighed. “And if you lose, what’s in it for me?”
She hesitated, unsure how far to push the tentative truce under which they were living.
“I don’t know what sort of things you like.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “I like women.”
Her mouth pursed primly. “That’s not news. Aaron speaks often of your prowess with the opposite sex.”
This time he frowned. “I wouldn’t call it prowess. I’m just unattached. You know how it is when you’re single.”
“If by ‘unattached’ you mean promiscuous, then no, I can’t say that I do. I don’t sleep around, Connor McKee.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s part of my problem.”
Her eyes widened nervously. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this situation before.”
“What kind of situation?”
“You want the truth?” he asked.
Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. “Oh…never mind the bet. I’m going out. You’re welcome to come along.”
“I don’t have tunnel vision when it comes to women.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over.
“You like women with big boobs and round hips and little bitty waists, and if they giggle when they talk, so much the better. You’re partial to redheads but won’t turn down an invitation from a blue-eyed blonde.” Then she crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. “How am I doing?”
She had so nailed the redhead from the ski lodge that it shamed him. God, when had he become so shallow?
“I’ll get my coat.”
“So you’re admitting I won the bet?” Caitlin asked.
“Don’t push your luck, woman. I thought you wanted to go outside.”
“What about your feet? You’ll need protection.”
“Now that you’ve bullied me into having your way, you’re worrying about my anatomy?”
“Connor, so help me—”
He grinned. “I packed an old pair of boots. They’ll do.”
“I’m going to change clothes,” she announced. “I’d advise you to do the same. Wear layers of clothing. It’s warmer than one really heavy coat, okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I am not your mother, God rest her soul,” Caitlin muttered, and stomped out of the room.
And I thank the Lord for small favors. The way he was feeling, he didn’t want to be any relation to Caitlin Bennett at all.
“Where are you going? You just got here.”
Buddy turned, his coat draped across his arm.
“I’ve got some personal business to tend to. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said.
He left before further explanations were requested, shrugging into his coat and pulling on his gloves as he took the stairs down two at a time.
As he stepped outside, he patted the bulky packet inside the pocket of his coat to make sure it was still there. It was.
As he looked up, he saw the drivers of a trio of cabs on a collision course with disaster, blasting their horns at each other as they came together at an intersection, each refusing to yield. He winced, expecting to see them collide and then laughed when they slid past each other in a flurry of snow and curses. He could only imagine what their passengers were thinking.
The city was digging out from beneath the blizzard and doing a remarkable job, but it was going to take at least another twenty-four, maybe even forty-eight, hours before things would be back to normal. In the meantime, he had a mission of his own to accomplish that had nothing to do with snow.
As he started up the street, the cold hit him like a slap in the face. He paused at the corner, the breath from his mouth forming small, perfect clouds. They refused to dissipate, as if reluctant to leave the warmth from which they had been birthed. Debating with himself as to whether to risk his life and take a cab or use the subway, which would take longer, the decision was taken out of his hands. A cab pulled up to the curb in front of him and let out a passenger. Taking it as a sign, he jumped in the back seat as the passenger paid off the driver.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Manhattan…Riverside Drive. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Then he settled in for the ride, taking care to buckle up as the driver pulled away from the curb.
As the driver sped over the snow-packed streets, Buddy got an unexpected view of a strange anomaly. The distinction of the buildings had been so blurred by the snowfall that they all looked the same. If it wasn’t for the street signs on the blocks they were passing, he might have believed they were going in circles. Snowplows were out in full force, but it would be nightfall before all the main avenues had been plowed and probably another thirty-six hours before the side streets were finished.
Shop owners were out on the sidewalks, trying to shovel pathways to their stores, and so much snow was drifted everywhere that delivery trucks had to park halfway into the street in order to unload their goods.
“Hey, buddy, it’s a real mess, ain’t it?”
Startled to hear a stranger call him by name, it took a moment for him to realize the driver was using it as a gesture of friendliness, rather than recognition.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“The snow. It’s a mess.”
He shrugged. “A reflection of life,” he said, and then suddenly leaned close to the bullet-proof partition. “Let me out on the next corner.”
The driver eased in toward the curb. Buddy paid and got out, cursing as the snow went over his boots. The cab pulled away as he stumbled toward the curb. Once on the sidewalk, he looked around, judging his location against his final destination.
When he got his bearings, he smiled. A block north, then a half a block east, and he would be in the alley behind the Bennett Building. Feeling his coat pocket to make sure the package he’d come to deliver was still in its place, he lowered his head and started walking.
There were more people out than he had expected, and the closer he got to the building, the more he wished he’d worn a disguise. Thanks to a friend at City Hall, he had a copy of the blueprint for the building, and he reminded himself that he had been inside before. All he had to do was follow the plan and he would be fine.
He glanced down at his watch, judging how long he’d been gone against the time it would take to deliver his little treat. When he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. Caitlin Bennett and her bodyguard were coming toward him from less than half a block away. Without thinking, he ducked into the nearest business, which turned out to be a stationery store.
“May I help you, sir?”
“Just looking,” he said, and stepped away from the door as Caitlin and her escort passed in front of the
building.
He stood without moving, watching the animation on her face and resenting the way her smile curved upward in delight at something the man must have said. Her behavior puzzled him. He would have sworn she was more intelligent than this. How dare she be happy when her life was in danger?
By the time they were gone, he was shaking with anger. It was time to get serious. What he had in his pocket was just a taste of what he had in store for her. Oh, if he could only be a fly on the wall when she opened his little surprise. But since he couldn’t, he would have to be satisfied with the fact that it would surely wipe that smile off her face.
All he had to do was jimmy the maintenance door in the rear of the building, follow the map in his head to the elevator shaft leading to the penthouse, leave his little “gift” and be on his way.
Mac didn’t know whether to be glad that Caitlin was happy or pick a fight with her just to regain some emotional distance. Every time he thought about saying something rude, she would look up at him and smile, and he would forget what he’d been going to say. Finally he decided to just let the day be. They’d been snowed in too long for him to bring the outing to a premature halt.
“I’m starving,” Caitlin said, pointing toward an entrepreneurial vendor who’d dared the cold to sell his wares. “Let’s get a pretzel.”
“You eat from those things?” he asked, unable to keep shock out of his voice.
Caitlin rolled her eyes as she dug into her pocket for some money.
“You are such a wuss. How do you think you’re going to protect me from bad guys when you’re too chicken to eat a simple pretzel? Besides that, I forgot my money. You’ll have to pay.”
“I’m not chicken,” he muttered as they stopped at the push cart, standing behind a man with two kids. He eyed the vendor suspiciously, watching him handling the pretzels, then taking money and making change with the same hands. “I just like my food handlers to wash their hands once in a while.”
Caitlin grinned and leaned toward him, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Oh, I’m sure he washes now and then, don’t you think?”
