The Honeymoon Assignment

by Cathryn Clare

  All the Windspray cottages shared the same layout. And that meant Sam didn’t have to waste a lot of time getting his bearings once he’d picked the Gustaffsons’ lock.

  He’d gone in the sliding door off the living room as soon as he’d seen Susan and Jon pull out of the driveway with Kelley in the back of their car. While he’d worked on the lock, cautiously holding the wire picks in place, he’d imagined the conversation taking place in the car right now.

  You and that husband of yours have just got to start doing more things together, Susan Gustaffson would probably be saying. I’m sure he’s a busy man—we’re all busy— but he can’t work all the time, not if you’re going to have a good marriage.

  Susan and Jon evidently found the time for each other, not to mention for starting a family together. Had they found time to create a series of phony twenty-dollar bills, too? Sam frowned over the lock and told himself he couldn’t afford to let his thoughts about Susan and Jon’s unborn child get in the way of his view of them as possible counterfeiters.

  The interior of the Gustaffsons’ cottage was expensively and comfortably furnished. A big-screen television dominated the end wall of the living room, and in the kitchen a set of copper pots and pans hung from a rack in the ceiling, gleaming even in the dull light of this breezy, cloudy morning.

  Sam hadn’t done a physical search in a long time. Since his accident, he’d preferred hunting for clues in computers, not in people’s homes. But the old pattern came back to him now as he moved quickly around the cottage.

  He started in the kitchen, where the drawers and cupboards offered the most convenient hiding places. He took a hard look at the floorboards, just to make sure, but there was no sign of the kind of hiding place that had been created in Steve Cormier’s kitchen.

  The sofa and chairs—a favorite with many criminals bent on storing away incriminating evidence—turned up a few stale pieces of popcorn, some loose change and a hairbrush, but nothing else. The seams showed no signs of having been ripped open and sewn up again.

  Sam figured he had about forty minutes to go through each cottage, less if the weather turned nasty. Kelley had suggested a drive to the wildlife sanctuary west of Cairo, and the Gustaffsons and Wayland had seemed eager to go, but Sam knew their enthusiasm could easily wane if the threatened rain started to fall.

  He’d already used up twenty minutes in the Gustaffsons’ kitchen and living room. He debated whether to launch a more thorough search in either room, then decided it was more important to have a look in the bedroom and master bath first.

  Almost instantly he was glad he’d done it.

  The gun in the bedside drawer was half-hidden under a paperback novel and a couple of sheets of loose paper. Sam examined the gun first, spinning the cylinder to determine that all the chambers were filled.

  That told him nothing. The gun appeared to have been fired recently, judging by the powder residue left on the metal, although there was no way of telling exactly how long ago it had been used. Tuesday night? Sam wondered. Had it been Susan or Jon Gustaffson firing those shots from the hill behind the cottages after the gas had failed to do its intended work?

  The gun itself couldn’t answer those questions for him. But its presence in Jon Gustaffson’s bedside table was certainly suggestive.

  The lined pages on top of it seemed to have been used as scratch paper. There were several names and telephone numbers jotted down at random on the sheets, and Sam knew they were worth noting. People scribbled down the damnedest things sometimes. He’d once tracked down a fleeing embezzler because the guy had jotted down the time and number of his airline flight right next to his office telephone.

  He was halfway through copying Jon Gustaffson’s notes into his notebook when he heard Kelley’s voice.

  At first he thought he was just imagining it, the way he’d been imagining the serene grace of her smile and the newly washed softness of her honey blond hair. But then it came again, clearer this time, and Sam realized he was in trouble.

  He couldn’t hear her words, but her voice was distinct enough that he could pinpoint where it was coming from. She and her companions—he could hear their voices now, too—were heading for the east side of the cottage. Any moment now they would probably be coming through the side door.

  And barely ten feet away, Sam was sitting on the edge of the Gustaffsons’ bed.

  Kelley’s voice was usually as low and melodic as a sultry jazz solo, but now she sounded almost sharp. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. She was trying to send Sam a warning, letting him know the expedition had returned too soon.

  “You’ll feel better after you lie down for a while.” He caught her words as he slipped the gun and the loose pages back into the drawer and cast a quick eye around the bedroom.

  Part of his brain registered a guess that Susan Gustaffson wasn’t feeling well. Another part—the cynical side of him, the part that couldn’t help questioning everything and everyone—wondered whether Susan might be faking it.

  But by far the largest part of his mind was simply occupied with trying to figure out where to hide.

  He heard the sound of a key being turned in a lock, then the soft hiss of the glass door sliding open. By then he’d rejected the master bathroom—it was a dead end, aside from the possibility that someone might want to use it— and the window, which wasn’t big enough for him to get out of easily.

  That left one option, and almost no time to make use of it.

  He had to press his face right into the carpet to get flat enough to fit under the bed. And he’d only just managed it when the room was suddenly filled with people.

  Chapter 9

  “Here. Let me get you a damp washcloth for your forehead.”

  Kelley ducked into the Gustaffsons’ master bathroom, her heart pounding. If Sam was here—

  She flicked the shower curtain open and felt herself relax a little when she saw the empty bathtub. Had he managed to get out, then? There’d been no immediate trace of him in the living room or kitchen, although she knew he could still be hiding in the half bath or in some more devious spot.

  She hadn’t seen him anywhere around the yard when the Gustaffsons’ car had driven back along the Windspray road. He’d announced his intention of going through this cottage first. Had he changed his mind for some reason?

  If he hadn’t, and if he hadn’t gotten out in time, that meant he was still somewhere in the building. Jon was sitting next to Susan on the bed now, holding her hand, asking if there was anything he could get for her. Wayland was hovering around somewhere, too. If Sam was out there, and Wayland stumbled on his hiding place—

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed the damp washcloth over Susan’s forehead. Susan didn’t look noticeably ill, although Kelley remembered from experience that the early phases of pregnancy could have their sudden ups and downs. If Susan really was feeling sick, the obvious thing to do was to offer sympathy and leave discreetly. But if Sam was stuck in the cottage somewhere, she couldn’t just abandon him. Partners didn’t do that do each other.

  The feeling of a hand curling itself around her ankle nearly made her jump.

  “Something wrong, Kelley?” Jon Gustaffson had noticed her quick intake of breath. He was looking anxiously at her, as though he didn’t want to be stuck with two sick women.

  Oh, God, Kelley thought. The bed. Sam was under the bed, and she and Susan and Jon were all parked right on top of him. She felt his lean fingers biting into her ankle now, telling her silently to get him out of this.

  She managed to come up with a reassuring smile for Jon, and said brightly, “I’m fine, Jon. It’s just that something came back to me, from a long time ago. My grandmother always used to make ginger tea whenever one of us kids had an upset stomach. Do you happen to have any ginger in the kitchen?”

  “There’s some in the refrigerator.” Susan spoke faintly, without opening her eyes.

  “Good.” Kelley made no move to get up. “W
hy don’t you chop some up, Jon, and let it steep in boiling water for about ten minutes? I’m sure it’ll help.”

  Jon took the hint. And the moment he was out of the bedroom, Kelley got to her feet, too. “And I think maybe some fresh air would be a good idea for you,” she said to Susan. “It’s a little stuffy in here.”

  “It’s kind of cool outside.”

  “I know.” Susan’s answer suited Kelley just fine. “If we leave the sliding door open for a few minutes, that should do it.”

  It was a risk, she knew. But she couldn’t imagine how else they were going to manage it. She slid the glass door open and went back to Susan, rearranging the damp washcloth and effectively blocking Susan’s view of the doorway at the same time.

  Getting past Wayland and Jon was going to be Sam’s problem, not hers. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder in case she alerted Susan that something was going on back there. But she had a vague impression of stealthy movement behind her.

  He must have seen his opportunity and taken it. Kelley let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and started to take her own departure.

  She went out the front door, hoping to draw attention away from the side deck in case Sam was still skulking around out there. But on the steps just outside the living room, Wayland Price caught up with her.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, stepping outside the cottage after her. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone.”

  Great, Kelley thought. Wayland’s unwelcome attentions were about the last thing she needed at the moment.

  But it wasn’t flirtation that was on Wayland’s mind. He was wearing a dark blue jogging suit today, and as’ he caught up with Kelley he slid his mirrored sunglasses into his hip pocket, frowning at her with blue eyes that seemed to be honestly concerned about something.

  “It’s about Steve Cormier,” he said, and instantly Kelley came to a halt on the wooden steps.

  “What about Steve Cormier?” she asked slowly.

  Wayland was picking his words carefully, she thought. It wasn’t like him, and that made her pay even closer attention to what he was saying. “Do you happen to know anything about where he went, or why?” he asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  He looked away from her for a moment. She had a sense that he was girding himself to ask a direct question he would have been just as happy to avoid.

  “Well, he disappeared just about the same time you and Sam showed up,” he said. “I wondered if—you know—either of you might have met him before somewhere.”

  “Why would that make him leave?”

  Wayland shrugged. It was painfully clear how hard he was working to seem casual. “The man obviously wasn’t who he said he was,” he answered. “I know I’ve made fun of my mother for getting nervous about things, but I think she had a point about there being something shady in Cormier’s past. And then the coincidence of him taking off just as you and Sam arrived—”

  “It was just a coincidence. It must have been.” Deep down, Kelley wasn’t so certain about that. But she wasn’t certain she could trust Wayland’s sudden candor, either. He was worried about something, that was clear. But she doubted she was getting the whole story on what it was.

  “What is it about Cormier’s disappearance that worries you?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  His eyes slid to one side and then the other, confirming her suspicion that he didn’t want to tell her. “My mother is upset about it,” he said, “and when my mother’s upset, the whole family is upset. That’s all.”

  There was more, Kelley was certain of it. For one thing, Wayland hadn’t shown any particular concern for his mother’s state of mind before this. And for another, he seemed just as anxious to wrap up the conversation now as he’d been to start it a couple of minutes ago.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said as he stepped past her onto the lawn. “Maybe we can try that trip to the wildlife sanctuary another time.”

  She was still puzzling over the brief exchange when Sam joined her on the gravel road back to their own cottage. He must have doubled around toward the entrance to the community, she realized, then waited for her to appear.

  He was walking with a spring in his step that she hadn’t seen for a very long time. “Damn, you are good, lady,” he told her, as he put one long arm around her shoulders and fell into step next to her. “You never so much as quivered when I grabbed your ankle from under the bed.”

  She knew this mood—knew the euphoria that could take over when you’d gotten boxed into a corner and found a way out of it again. But it was a surprise to see Sam’s dark blue eyes glittering this way, and to feel herself responding to the maverick charm of his grin.

  “I grew up with four brothers who took every possible opportunity to scare the daylights out of me,” she reminded him. “It takes a whole lot more than grabbing my ankle from under a bed to make me flinch.”

  “So I noticed. And I remember the four brothers, now that you mention them. But the old grandmother with the herbal remedies?”

  In spite of everything, Kelley felt herself being drawn into Sam’s lighthearted mood. How long had it been since the two of them had joked together like this? How long since they’d instinctively relied on each other’s wits the way they’d just done inside the Gustaffsons’ cottage?

  Too long, something inside Kelley was telling her now.

  She shook her head and refused to follow that train of thought.

  “The folksy old grandmother was an inspiration of the moment,” she confessed. “My real grandmother was one of the first women ever admitted to the state bar in Oklahoma, and as I recall her, she was far too busy writing briefs to have time for brewing any kind of tea at all.”

  “Well, I salute your powers of invention, sweetheart. And I salute your real grandmother, too.” He shot her a sideways grin that made Kelley feel short of breath. “The Landis women are a quick-witted bunch.”

  She didn’t know which was more disconcerting, the compliment or the way her left hip was rocking against Sam’s as they walked. They’d always eased naturally into step together, exactly the way they were doing now.

  And walking wasn’t the only time when their bodies had seemed to find an instinctive, pleasurable pace.

  Kelley felt her cheeks redden slightly as Sam tightened his grip around her shoulders. Making love with Sam Cotter had been like nothing else she’d ever experienced—a primitive, joyful free-for-all where the only thing that had ever mattered was the pounding rhythm urging them both on.

  And she could feel a faint echo of that erotic pulse now as she and Sam turned onto the lawn in front of their own cottage.

  This is crazy, she told herself. What Sam is feeling is professional satisfaction, nothing more.

  But the sight of his lanky legs in those worn blue jeans kept getting in the way of the sensible thoughts she was trying to focus on. And the sensation of his lean hip riding against hers with every step kept reminding her of the way their bodies had felt against each other without any clothing in the way, without anything at all between them.

  Including any kind of protection, she tried to tell herself. They’d always been so hot for each other that it wasn’t surprising that they’d slipped up once or twice. The thought of what had resulted from those lapses should have been enough to quell the treacherous feelings that were rising in her now.

  But it wasn’t.

  Was it because of last night’s nearly silent moment of comfort out on the sand dunes that the past seemed to weigh less heavily on her today? Something had changed, and Sam seemed to be aware of it, too. The atmosphere between them as they reached their cottage was charged in a way that Kelley hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  She could sense the silent challenge in the way Sam turned toward her, resting his strong forearms on top of her shoulders.

  And she could sense his interest, too.

  And the same kind of purely physical longing that had taken over her blood
stream while they’d been walking along the gravel road from the Gustaffsons’ cottage.

  This was crazy, she knew. Walking had surely never been on anybody’s top ten list for foreplay. Yet her heart was beating unsteadily and insistently at her ribs, and she could see a telltale brightness in Sam’s eyes that told her she wasn’t the only one responding to this sudden, unexpected closeness.

  The question was, what were they going to do about it?

  “I don’t—”

  “This isn’t—”

  They both started to speak at once, then laughed with the same note of embarrassed rapport.

  “You first,” Sam said, giving her that slow smile that always turned her knees to water.

  There was no way on earth for Kelley to resist the tenderness of that smile. She smiled back at him and raised her hands, clasping them around his waist.

  “I’m not sure what I was going to say,” she admitted.

  His arms circled her now, pulling her closer. Kelley leaned back in his grip, aroused and suddenly feeling carefree. When he lowered his head for a quick kiss, it was the casualness of it more than anything else—the familiarity, the sense of belonging together—that made her heart race a little faster.

  She kissed him back, loving the feeling of his mouth against hers. His hair had fallen forward again, but his face didn’t have its usual suspicious shadow. The unruly coil of hair across his forehead made him look almost playful, as though he, like Kelley, had momentarily managed to escape the dark burdens he usually carried around with him.

  Where do we go from here? She was sure he was wondering the same thing as he gazed down into her eyes. She couldn’t imagine ending this moment, breaking the happy spell that suddenly enclosed both of them. She couldn’t bring herself to insist that they get back to work on the case, not just yet.

  But were they ready to do anything else?

  Sam was tracing one thumb thoughtfully around the curve of her cheekbone when the matter was decided for them.

  She didn’t hear the car engine at first, because she was too caught up in the soft pressure of Sam’s skin against hers, and the searching, hungry expression in his eyes.