The area around Skytop Lake lived up to its name today. It was August, well into summer, and the mountaintop community that extended high into the air was baked by the brilliant sun.
Resting one arm, bare beneath his T-shirt, against the vehicle’s roof, Cole squinted, using the opportunity to glance around the Skytop Lake Village shopping center—including the entrances to the blacktop parking lot.
He recognized no one, saw no familiar vehicles. Good. That was no guarantee he hadn’t been noticed, that he wasn’t being followed, but he would remain alert.
He glanced at the calm, sparkling lake, visible between buildings, then entered the convenience store where he’d checked out the pay phone the day before. Its air-conditioning was working overtime so the entire store seemed as cool as the inside of the glass-fronted refrigeration units lining the walls. The place was nearly empty, and the phone was not in use. This must be his lucky day.
He made a skeptical noise that only he, and not the long-haired teenage girl behind the register, could hear. Luck? He had run out of it at least two years earlier. Now, he operated on instinct and wiles.
He shunned all feeling. Feeling meant pain.
Pain for the loss of the man he had once considered a brother: Vane.
Pain at seeing Alexa again. Knowing what she was. Wanting her, anyway, with a deep, gut-wrenching desire.
He strode single-mindedly toward the pay phone, punched in the numbers for his credit card and waited.
“Bowman.”
“It’s me, Forbes. I’m on a pay phone—not secure, but unlikely to be tapped.”
“Good. What have you found out?”
Cole could picture his friend and mentor sitting at his desk in his office in Washington, D.C.
Not the Pentagon, though their elite counterterrorist detachment had evolved as a Special Forces Unit that incorporated agents from all military branches. It was smaller, sleeker and more secretive than the elusive Delta Force, with the mission of infiltrating terrorist groups to terminate them. Despite being military, its members were constantly so far undercover that they seldom wore uniforms.
They called their group, simply, the Unit.
Forbes had insisted on a small, inconspicuous rented office for the Unit along E Street, between the areas that housed the FBI and the White House. “The better to keep us humble and alert,” Forbes had said when he had first shown it to Cole.
“I haven’t found out much yet,” Cole replied now to his boss’s question. “I’m still getting the layout of the place. The inn is fairly small. I’ll need to hack into the computer to get information about the guests, but I suspect it’s all a cover, anyway.”
“How many are there?” Forbes’s voice was gruff and in-your-face, as always. Cole’s silver-haired mentor was nearing retirement age, though he was likely to be hauled from the Unit screaming and kicking—using the most injurious of self-defense maneuvers. As old as he was, he would do damage to guys much younger. Forbes was a large man—nobody’s fool, nobody’s wimp.
“Sixteen, I think,” Cole said. “At least, that’s how many appeared for dinner last night.”
“And was it a good meal?” Forbes asked sarcastically.
“The best.” The food had been great. It had been cooked by Alexa. Her graceful, slender hands had prepared it and served it. Hands he recalled touching him, once upon a time, so erotically—
He shifted and leaned against the wall.
“You still there?” Forbes demanded.
“Sure.” Cole forcibly refocused his thoughts. “I talked to a few, and most spoke excellent English. I happened to sit at a table with a couple of exceptions. They claimed to be from Bolivia.”
“Bolivia?” Forbes snorted.
“More like Libya. Anyway, their training is well under way. I didn’t see anyone using utensils in anything other than the good old U.S.A. method of both cutting food and eating with the right hand. I joined the group for television afterward, and some even knew the language well enough to guess at game show answers.”
He had also seen Alexa at the door, and had lived dangerously. Tempted fate, and her memory.
From the corner of his eye, he had seen her grow pale when he had answered a question about a tree. Did she remember Cole Rappaport’s knowledge about trees? Did she somehow associate John O’Rourke, home improvements salesman extraordinaire, with the man she had helped to kill?
“Damn.” Forbes’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “If those suspects are doing that well, it means they’re nearly ready.”
“Could be. You got anything for me? Has anyone else reported finding other locations yet?”
“Not yet. You’re on your own. It all depends on you.”
“How can that be?” Cole demanded. “After last time, we know there has to be a host of agents ready to go underground.”
“Maybe they changed tactics,” Forbes said. “Numbers got them nowhere, after all.”
“But the intelligence I learned in the field—”
“Never mind what’s going on elsewhere,” Forbes insisted. “I’ll handle that. You just figure out what’s happening there, hear?”
“Yes, I hear you. What about backup? Are you sending anyone here from the Unit to follow this crowd when they disperse? I already told Maygran and Bradford to expect your call.”
Colonel Jessie Bradford and Major Allen Maygran were a couple of Cole’s most trusted co-agents in the Special Forces Unit. They were among the very few who knew who he really was, for Cole used yet another alias within the Unit. Both had only recently joined other special operations military units. Vane would not know them.
“I’ve told you before to let me handle the details.” Forbes did not sound pleased, although he seldom did. “But, yes, I’m working on getting together an inconspicuous crew to join you there soon.”
“Good.” Cole drew in his breath suddenly, as a familiar figure walked into the convenience store: Minos Flaherty. The squat, muscular thug had not been at the inn last night, and Cole hadn’t been in a position to figure out where he may have gone. He had half hoped that the guy had disappeared for good—but only if he had taken a long dive over a short Skytop cliff. If he had simply disappeared, as all the guests were expected to do soon, it could mean that the operation was commencing before Cole was ready to deal with it.
“Hey, you there? Er, John?” Forbes stumbled over Cole’s name on this assignment.
“I’m here.” Cole kept his voice low. “I’ve got to leave, though.”
“Someone there?” Forbes’s tone was urgent.
“Yes. I’ll be in touch.”
“Do that. And watch your butt.” Cole heard a click on the other end.
His butt? Oh, yes. Cole had every intention of protecting that and every other part of his body.
Alexa’s lovely face loomed suddenly in his mind, and he shut it out.
But for an aching moment, he realized that the most vulnerable part of him could still be his damn, foolish heart.
ALEXA OPENED THE DOOR from the kitchen to the inn’s backyard—and the ground-floor vista overlooking the gorgeous blue splendor of Skytop Lake. At the shore, a long dock extended into the water. The inn’s motorboat was tied alongside.
Around the lake, evergreen trees rose in thick glades covering the sides of the surrounding mountain ridges. Many trees were ponderosa pines. Cole had taught her that, on their wonderful, fateful weekend here. The last time they had been together….
She inhaled deeply. The heated air was so damp that she nearly had to take a sip of it.
“Come on, Phantom,” she called behind her. The lanky German shepherd pup sped by her and out the door. He ran to the side of the house, out of her field of vision. “Wait!” she called. Phantom didn’t return but started to bark.
The noise seemed magnified near the water, which also carried sounds of motorboats in the distance. Alexa ran along the top of the down-sloped lawn to the area where the noisy pup had disappeared. And stopped.
Phantom was barking because there was an intruder. No, not an intruder—a guest.
John was on the lawn beside the inn. He had stooped, and his hand was out toward Phantom, who hadn’t yet stopped barking, though he had previously met John. John grinned and made soothing sounds. His substantial biceps flexed as he continued to reach toward the excited dog.
Alexa hurried to join them. “Enough,” she scolded Phantom. “Sorry,” she said to John. “He’s trained not to bark much inside, but the outdoors is fair game.” She knelt and gathered the pup to her. Only then did he stop barking. Instead, he struggled in Alexa’s grasp, turning in her arms to slurp at her chin with his long tongue. Alexa laughed, then stood.
“I didn’t mean to get his dander up.”
John rose, too. His white T-shirt hugged every bulge of his well-formed chest. Alexa pretended not to stare at John but at his shirt. It had an outline of a mountain on it, and the logo read Skytop Lake. Reach for the Stars.
She wanted to reach for him. Especially with the way his deep brown eyes moved down her appreciatively, obviously taking in the fact that she, too, wore a T-shirt. Hers was over shorts, and his gaze lingered on her legs.
His eyes returned to her face, and she looked away quickly, ignoring the oozing warmth spreading through her, a heat that had nothing to do with summer in the mountains.
“He thinks he’s a watchdog,” Alexa said quickly, bending down to take Phantom’s collar. She was curious as to what John was doing here, practically standing in the flower bed, but figured he was a paying guest and had the right to be anywhere on the grounds he wanted—or at least any public place. “If you were heading for the lake, there’s a paved path on the other side of the house.”
“I know. I went there at sunrise this morning to jog beside the lake.”
“You’d said that was why you wanted to be here,” Alexa acknowledged. She pictured this large man clad in a similar outfit to what he was wearing now, muscles straining as he ran. Sweat would bead on John, for even at dawn the summer air would be warm and humid.
She recalled how Cole had looked after an early-morning run here: damp and well-toned and as sexy as sin. She swallowed. Stop thinking of Cole, she ordered herself. But she might as well tell her lungs to stop breathing.
“I’m out here now because I can’t resist an opportunity,” John said.
“For what?”
“To pitch home improvements. Your inn is great. I love the chalet style. But did you realize it could use a coat of paint?”
Alexa nearly choked. This guy really was a home improvements salesman. No matter how good he looked, no matter how much he knew about tree trivia, he wasn’t Cole.
Cole had been in the military. He’d had a can-do attitude. He wouldn’t have told her that the inn needed paint. He’d have bought buckets and brushes and begun painting.
When she had been here with Cole, this place had needed more than a coat of paint, but it hadn’t belonged to her.
“I’m aware it needs a little work,” she answered dryly. Vane and she had fixed it up when they had first bought it a year-and-a-half ago. Had kept it up, too—for a while.
Then Vane had lost interest in the inn, at least as anything other than a place to further his scheme. He discouraged Alexa from spending money on it.
“Actually,” she continued, hearing the defiance in her tone, “I plan to paint it at the end of the summer.” She wasn’t certain where that had come from. This place was hers, even if Vane was her partner.
But the likelihood was that to survive, she would have to leave it behind.
“Maybe I can come back and help,” John said. “I enjoy painting. But this place is really nice. Have you ever considered expanding? Opening a chain of hotels?”
Alexa felt herself blanch. She stared at John. Did he know who she was? Who her parents were? Or was it an innocent enquiry?
“My family used to own a hotel chain,” she said. “It got too…unmanageable. They’re down to one now, in Arizona. I want to keep things simple, too.” If only they were simple.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” John took a step toward her. “Alexa, I still get the feeling that there’s something wrong. If you ever want a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got two I can lend.”
Two very broad, substantial shoulders. And, heavens, how much Alexa wanted to take him up on his offer. Her eyes moistened. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for a long, long time.
But she caught herself. Almost laughed aloud. This was a very nice man. Kind and compassionate, a people person by profession.
But she could not lean on anyone.
And care for someone? She nearly snorted aloud. She had cared for Cole—deeply—and he had died. She had allowed herself to care, just a little, for Vane, and he had proven to be a monster.
“Thanks,” she said brightly. “I’ll remember that.”
Phantom suddenly stood at attention. Alexa looked in the direction of his gaze. Toward the lake.
Minos Flaherty stood on their dock. He was back, damn it.
What was worse, he was staring straight at them. Vane would get a report.
And Alexa was certain she would pay for this very brief, very innocent, interlude with the kind and sexy John O’Rourke. At best, he might threaten her parents again. At worst, he would harm them, or her…or both.
COLE DID NOT FOLLOW ALEXA into the house right away. He watched as Minos Flaherty strode up the grassy slope directly toward him.
Cole didn’t like the guy. Didn’t trust him.
But John O’Rourke liked everyone. And so, Cole plastered a welcoming smile on his face. “Hi,” he called.
The short man didn’t return the smile. He just nodded. He seemed to be sizing John up. He didn’t appear impressed.
That made Cole want to have some fun at the truncated thug’s expense. He pointed up toward the house. “Are you the handyman here? You might want to recommend a new paint job. I was just discussing it with Alexa.”
Startled, he realized he was behaving as if Alexa had needed an excuse to be with him. As if she needed protection.
But that was ridiculous. She had to be part of the plot.
“I’ll tell Vane you said so.” Minos glanced toward the structure looming beside him and grimaced, as though the thought of fixing it up gave him ulcers.
“Thanks. And if you want any other suggestions about improvements—” He didn’t get to finish, as Minos disappeared behind the inn.
Cole stifled his laugh. He walked toward the B & B’s front entrance and went in.
His laughter turned to bitter bile as he saw Alexa held tightly at Vane Walters’s side. They stood by the inn’s registration desk. Phantom explored the adjoining parlor, his nose to the rug.
Vane was talking with some of the guests, a middle-aged couple who had been at the far side of the room at dinner the previous night. He turned toward Cole. “Oh, Mr. O’Rourke,” he said. “Do you know this area well? I was just telling the Smiths, here, about Skytop Lake Village.”
“I know my way around,” Cole replied coolly, studiously avoiding Alexa’s eyes.
That attitude would not do. John O’Rourke, home improvements glad-hander, would never sulk.
“I know how to get there, at least,” he continued in a lighter tone. “That was where I ran into your very kind fiancée yesterday.” He smiled warmly at Alexa. She did not smile back.
“Yes, she has a habit of picking up strays.” Vane softened his insult by grinning and squeezing Alexa tighter. Her return expression was something less than a smile. “Oh, come on, darling. You know how much I like your little habits.” He pulled her close and gave her a long, sexy kiss full on the lips.
Cole fought the urge to haul her out of his arms and punch Vane right on that overactive mouth. Amused chuckles arose from the throats of the Smiths, distracting Cole.
Alexa did not slap the guy. Back away. Even protest.
Why should she? They were engaged. She probably
enjoyed it.
When the kiss was over, Alexa still didn’t smile as she continued to stand next to her intended. Her lovely complexion had turned pink. From embarrassment?
Maybe. But there was also an expression in her large blue eyes that Cole did not recognize. It wasn’t anger, for he had experienced that. But it certainly wasn’t lust. Or love. For he had experienced that, too….
“We are going to take the Smiths and some of the other guests on a tour of the area, John,” Alexa said. Her voice was close to a monotone, as if she had extracted all emotion from it. “Would you like to join us?”
“Thanks, not today,” he said quickly. “I’m going to do some more exploring around the lake.”
He nearly kicked himself. The more time he spent with the crowd of clowns posing as guests, the more he might be able to learn.
But he had an urge to put as much distance as he could between himself and the happy couple, his assignment notwithstanding.
Besides, if he was fortunate, everyone else would go. And he could do a little exploring—not around the lake.
“Fine,” Vane said. “Maybe another time.”
“Sure. Touring with you two would be fun.” As much fun as walking barefoot on razor blades.
He remembered when it had been fun to be with them, when he and Vane had been stationed in Santa Monica. That was where he had met Alexa.
Had fallen in love with her.
The biggest mistake of his life.
Some other guests descended the stairs beside the reception area, chattering excitedly. Jill Fuller’s dark eyes lit immediately on Cole. She approached him, her full hips, beneath tight white pants, swinging suggestively. “John,” she said, “are you coming on our tour? You must sit beside me, help me with my not-so-good English.”
Her purported husband, Ed, was right behind her. His wide nose was wrinkled, as if he smelled something foul. “Yes, John,” he said with much less enthusiasm. “We would be pleased for your company.” If this scowl was his pleasure mode, Cole wondered what displeasure looked like.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not doing the tour thing right now. My day’s all booked up with solitude and contemplating the lake.” He winked at Jill. “If you don’t recognize those long words, I’ll be glad to explain them.”
Operation: Reunited Page 5
