Flash of Death

by Cindy Dees

  “Well, yes.”

  “Then you can work on them at home.”

  “But it will raise suspicion if I suddenly disappear from Paradeo. And, I don’t know if Barry got the entire goods on the company. If he didn’t, I may still need access to the company’s financial records. And that means keeping my job and the appearance of normalcy for a little longer.”

  He didn’t like it one bit, but he could see her point. “I’m still staying glued to your side,” he declared.

  “You can’t exactly sit beside my desk all day long without raising serious red flags with my superiors,” she replied, alarmed.

  Dammit, another good point. “No, but I can drop you off at work and pick you up, and I can watch you in your office from across the street.”

  She frowned. “I suppose I could live with that.”

  He wasn’t giving her a choice in the matter, but he refrained from sharing that particular detail with her. She was finally letting down her guard with him, and he wasn’t about to raise her hackles again unnecessarily.

  “Where do you keep a broom?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you’ll get a towel to mop up the wine, I’ll sweep up the broken glass.”

  She fetched him a broom and dustpan. As she disappeared into her bedroom in search of a towel, he raced through cleaning up the glass. He was done by the time she got back.

  “Man, you’re fast,” she commented. “How did you do that?”

  He swore at himself mentally. He would have to be more careful not to give away his special ability. “It wasn’t that big a job.”

  But her frown suggested she didn’t entirely believe him. To distract her, he asked, “What’s that delicious smell coming from your kitchen. Have you eaten yet?”

  “It’s cashew chicken. And, no, I haven’t. Have you?”

  He winced. “I should warn you. I’m pretty much always hungry.”

  “Good thing I made a big batch, then.”

  After a delicious supper, he called Winston Ops. “Hey, it’s Trent. Has Jeff briefed you on the latest from here? Good. Can you get a hold of the police report and find out what their preliminary guess is as to how Barry died?”

  He only had to wait a minute or so. How on earth Winston’s people got access to the San Francisco police department’s database so quickly, he hadn’t the slightest idea. Frankly, he didn’t want to know. The favors Jeff was able to call in on a moment’s notice were scary.

  Novak announced, “Death by strangulation with a metal wire. Looks like your guy was garroted.”

  Trent grimaced. That was the method of a professional killer. Quiet, fast and effective.

  Novak added, “We I.D.ed the guy from the alley last night. Mexican national, crossed over into the U.S. as recently as a week ago. Rap sheet in Mexico a mile long. But all his arrests stopped about a year ago.”

  “Police bought off to leave him alone?” Trent bit out.

  “Looks like it. If he’s involved with one of the powerful drug cartels, they’d have the power to get the Federalés off his back. We’re still working on which cartel he’s hooked up with.”

  “Thanks. Keep me updated, will you?” He ended the call.

  “Well?” Chloe demanded.

  “Well what?”

  “How did Barry die?”

  “He appears to have been murdered.” She didn’t need to know all the gory details; she was already upset enough. “How about I do the dishes so you can take a peek at those files Barry gave you?”

  She nodded and disappeared into her bedroom. When her kitchen sparkled, he dried his hands and strolled into her bedroom to check on her. She sat at her desk, concentrating fiercely on her laptop screen.

  Her apartment had about as much personality as a wet sock. Odd how so passionate a woman was so restrained in expressing herself. Her bathroom was as bland and neat as the rest of her place. He opened her closet and wasn’t surprised to find a row of boring suits. He checked over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t paying attention to him and opened her drawers one by one. Nothing. No sign of the woman he’d made love with in Denver. Her socks and panties were as practical and uninspired as everything else in this place. Clearly, Chloe Jordan needed whiskey soon and often to break out of this shell she’d locked herself inside.

  He stretched out on her bed and read a newspaper for the next hour. Finally, she pushed her chair back and raised her arms over her head in a stretch. He rolled off the bed and moved behind her. Yup, that knot in her neck he’d felt in Denver was back. He dug his thumbs into it and smiled as she groaned her pleasure.

  “Taking a break or finished for the evening?” he murmured.

  “Just a break,” she moaned, her head rolling forward.

  “Have you got any whiskey?”

  She stiffened beneath his hand. Whoops. There was the knot again. “Why?” she asked cautiously

  “Because you need to loosen up. Bad.”

  She turned in her seat to face him. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are here to protect me. Nothing more.”

  “I never agreed to that,” he retorted.

  “Then I’m making it a new condition. This is just business. Purely professional.”

  “Sorry. No deal.”

  For a moment, she looked like she was seriously considering going along with his implied indecent proposition. But then her expression closed and her gaze went hard. “Excuse me?” she said ominously.

  “You heard me. I make no promises to keep our relationship platonic.”

  “We don’t have a relationship!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry. Have you forgotten Saturday night? As I recall, we have one hell of a relationship.”

  Her cheeks turned red. “That was...an anomaly.”

  “You can call it whatever you want, honey. That was the hottest sex I’ve had with anyone in a long damned time. Maybe ever. And I plan to do it again with you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Never.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asked softly. If she knew him better, she’d recognize the note of danger in his voice. But apparently, she didn’t know him that well, yet.

  “No, Trent. It’s a promise. I’ll never do that again with you.”

  “Ahh, you shouldn’t have said that. I never could walk away from a dare.”

  Chapter 5

  Chloe stared up at Trent in dismay. One of his hands still rested lightly on her neck, and electric shocks zinged outward from his palm and straight to her core. The rational half of her mind was appalled at his declaration. But the other half of her mind was thrilled, darn it.

  Reason kicked in again. She didn’t know the first thing about this man. And establishing her career left no time for relationships. Not to mention he was so beautiful she would always feel like a second-class citizen around him. He would leave her eventually. Everyone did. She could do without the heartbreak. Most important of all, she was terrified by how he made her lose control.

  Mmm. But that’s the best part, her emotional self murmured.

  No. It was not.

  Wanna bet? her wanton self retorted. Tell him about the bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet in the living room and see what happens.

  She steeled herself for whatever assault he planned to launch against her resistance, but he surprised her by stepping away from her and saying only, “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Stunned, she watched his yummy back retreat into the living room. She definitely hadn’t expected him to back off that easily. Was he not all that attracted to her in spite of his big talk of bedding her again?

  Hurt at the notion, she turned her attention back to the financial data in front of her and resumed her analysis. Or she tried to. But every time she wrote down a new column of numbers she ended up staring at it and making no sense of it whatsoever. Instead she kept seeing Trent’s glorious body looming above hers. His face tight with desire and his eyes dark with need that she had put there.

 
As she added up a list of numbers for the third time and came up with a third different total, she gave up and threw down her pen. She stormed out into the living room to confront the source of her distraction. “I can’t get a darned thing done, and it’s all your fault.”

  He looked up from the book he’d borrowed from her shelves. She noted vaguely that the self-avowed beach bum with no job was reading an advanced tome on economic theory. Did he actually understand it, or was he just trying to impress her?

  “How can I make it better?” he asked mildly.

  He could scratch the itch he’d planted in her head, darn it. She opened her mouth to make a snappy comeback. Closed it. No way was she going to admit she was attracted to him. It was a passing thing. He was a hot guy and basic biology dictated that she would react. It was nothing personal and nothing she planned to do anything about.

  She stomped into the kitchen and made herself a mug of herbal tea. Belatedly, she offered, “Tea?”

  “Only if it’s decaf.”

  “Do you have trouble sleeping?” Rats. Her curiosity to know about this man slipped out before she could corral it.

  He shrugged. “I usually have to take medication to go unconscious. And those drugs don’t mix well with caffeine.”

  “The way I hear it, sleeping pills can be habit-forming.”

  “They are.”

  “Have you tried to kick them?”

  He smiled but his eyes remained closed. Secretive. “I really can’t sleep without help. It’s a metabolism thing.”

  Which also explained his comment about being hungry all the time. She sipped her tea and let its smooth flavor soothe her.

  “So what’s your story?” Trent asked her.

  The question surprised her. He actually wanted to know more about her than how she behaved when drunk?

  “You’ve seen my life. Work. Accounting. My apartment.”

  He frowned. “Hobbies? Interests?”

  “No time.”

  “Friends?”

  “A few. We go out to dinner now and then.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Again, no time.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  His statement startled her. It also offended her a little. Maybe because he was partially right. Other people, including her sister, were fond of telling her she needed to make time for a relationship. She might just make time for a man like Trent Hollings—

  Horrified, she broke off the train of thought. That man was way out of her class. Not to mention he’d break her heart as sure as she was sitting here.

  “Why don’t you want a boyfriend, Chloe?”

  He asked the question in a conversational tone, but she didn’t miss the intensity underlying it. “I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re implying,” she retorted.

  He laughed. “I already had that one figured out. I was there Saturday, remember?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I really wish you’d quit talking about that. It was...” She didn’t know quite how to describe it.

  “It was what?”

  She scowled. “A one-time aberration.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to call it a mistake. But she did declare, “It will never happen again.”

  “I think you’re about three shots of whiskey away from a repeat performance. And I also happen to think you wouldn’t mind that so much. Furthermore, I think you need a repeat performance.”

  “And that’s why I’ve sworn off drinking for good,” she snapped.

  “Are you telling me I’ve ruined you for all other men? Why, Chloe, I’m flattered.”

  Her scowl deepened while his grin widened. “What say we head for bed?” he suggested casually.

  She bolted to her feet, alarmed. “This isn’t going to work. You need to leave—”

  He cut her off gently. “I don’t sleep, remember? I was suggesting that you go to sleep while I keep an eye on things. Out here. In the living room.”

  “Oh.” And didn’t she just feel silly. She turned away from the glint of humor in his striking silver gaze and stalked into her bedroom.

  She locked the door, but immediately, his voice floated through the panel. “You might want to leave that unlocked. If I have to get in there in a hurry to protect you, I’d hate to have to break the thing down. Better if I can get in straight away.”

  Disgruntled, she unlocked the door without opening it. A faint chuckle was audible and she stuck her tongue out at him from behind the safety of the door. It felt weird taking off her clothes knowing he was just outside, and she raced into the T-shirt and sweatpants she usually slept in.

  She pulled the covers up to her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing could close out the memory of his hands on her skin or the wanton things he’d done to her. Things she’d craved. Begged for, even. She pulled a pillow over her head and groaned beneath it. If only he’d just go away and leave her alone!

  Or else come in here and do all of those things again that had set her blood on fire and made her feel truly alive for the first time in a very long time.

  * * *

  Trent sat in the dark, listening to Chloe toss and turn in her bed. Trouble sleeping, huh? Thinking about him and their night together, perchance? He smiled into the night. His plan to seduce the good Miss Jordan was proceeding very nicely. She’d been so distracted tonight she could hardly see straight. And her gaze had kept straying to his mouth, his chest, his hands. Remembering the feel of him, was she? Like any good predator, he was patient. She would come to him and beg for a repeat performance even if he had to pour whiskey down her throat to get her to admit she wanted him. He’d already discovered her liquor cabinet, and it happened to contain an unopened bottle of a decent single malt Scotch whiskey. Yes, indeed. The good Miss Jordan was going to be his. It was just a matter of time.

  * * *

  Chloe woke with a start to the sound of her shower running. She jolted upright and then remembered. Trent. The water turned off and she slid down under her covers hastily. The bathroom door opened and he stepped out in a cloud of steam wearing...oh, God...a towel. Slung casually around his hips and showing off intensely male abs and a heck of a nice tan. Lots and lots of nice tan.

  “Did I wake you? Sorry,” he murmured.

  “My alarm clock was about to go off anyway,” she mumbled.

  “Any requests for breakfast?”

  “I usually have a cup of coffee and a bagel.”

  “I need something more substantial. You get ready for work and I’ll cook.”

  She stepped into her bathroom and stopped cold. His clothes were strewn on the floor, the bath mat soaking wet with his footprints in it. There were specks of shaving cream on the wall of her shower, the things on her counter misplaced. It was like a tornado had blown through her bathroom. Heck, through her life. And he wondered why she had no interest in dating. Hah.

  She piled his clothes in the corner, scrubbed down her shower, and put her shampoo, shaving cream and toothpaste back in an orderly row from tallest to shortest. There. Order restored. She showered, vividly aware that Trent had just been in this very spot, naked, with hot water sluicing over his body the same as it was doing over hers. More heated than her shower could account for, she dried off, dressed and twisted her hair into its usual knot at the back of her head.

  As she applied mascara, she became aware of the most amazing scent emanating from her kitchen. “What are you making?” she called out.

  “Scrambled eggs and crêpes suzette.”

  “For breakfast? Isn’t that a dessert?”

  He called back, “Crêpes are skinny pancakes. Strawberry’s a fruit and whipped cream is a dairy product. Sounds like breakfast food to me.”

  She smiled beneath the lip gloss applicator. She checked her appearance one last time and froze. Since when did she put this much care into getting ready for work? Since Trent Hollings blasted into her life. She stepped out into the main room.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He smiled. “Fresh batch of crêpes is u
p. I ate all the eggs. Sorry.” He put a plate on the breakfast bar for her beside a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and she slid onto a stool, stunned. Two perfect crêpes oozing sliced strawberries and nestled in a blanket of whipped cream sat on her plate. “My God, these look fabulous.”

  “I like to cook. Since I eat so much, it seemed like a reasonable skill to master.”

  She took a bite and groaned in delight.

  Trent grinned in satisfaction. “I’m glad to see you allow yourself at least a little pleasure.”

  She looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You seem bent on denying yourself any happiness in life.”

  “I am not.”

  “Had me fooled.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “So you often have wild sex with men you barely know, then?” he asked with deceptive mildness.

  “No,” she blurted, “I don’t. Ever. I wasn’t kidding when I said you were an anomaly.”

  “In my experience,” he commented reflectively as he rolled four more crêpes and placed them on a plate for himself, “Very little in life is random. There’s a reason you chose me to let down your hair with. I wonder what it is.”

  Truth was, he was the only man who’d really seen her at that wedding. Most men looked right through her like she wasn’t even there. And he’d been safe. She was never going to see him again. Ships passing in the night, and all. She snorted mentally. That sure hadn’t worked out the way she’d expected.

  Trent’s plate was already nearly empty. “How do you do that?” she demanded.

  “Do what?”

  “You do everything so fast.”

  His gaze was abruptly guarded. “I guess I’m just efficient.”

  “I leave the room for a few seconds, and when I return you’ve done ten times as much as I expected.”

  “Maybe you’re just lazy.”

  Were it not for the glint of humor in his eyes, she might have been offended. As it was, she laughed. He smiled back and her breath hitched. He was so handsome he was hard to look at sometimes. Under other circumstances, it would be very easy to fall for a man like him. Of course, a man like him would never fall for a girl like her for real. He might have enjoyed the hot sex, but he would never really care for her. They were too different.