“Annie, I—”
She strode past, her body stiff. The slamming door echoed through the quiet courtyard.
“Hell.” Izzy rubbed his jaw and sighed. “Nice work, McKade.”
Chapter Twelve
ANNIE SAT IN BED, HER KNEES PULLED UP AGAINST HER CHEST. Working with Sam was going to be far worse than she'd thought. Why had she imagined she could conceal their past?
She stared into the darkness, feeling trapped. She hadn't lied to her sister. What had happened with Sam had been brief and reckless and unexpected. They had never mentioned love and Annie had no illusions about them sharing any kind of future.
None of that made any difference.
The fact was, she hadn't had a lot of experience with men. Her work at the resort kept her too busy for much of a private life.
She had had a few pleasant encounters, nice while they lasted, but nothing that had outlived the eighteen-hour days and seven-day weeks that were her routine.
She lay back with a sigh, punching her pillow. Above the sea the moon was torn silver caught between racing clouds. Storm coming.
Winds from the west.
Probably rain.
Storms, she could manage. Men were something else. Particularly the tall, dark, and stubborn variety like Sam.
Annie gave her pillow one last punch, then closed her eyes, determined to put the past behind her. Tomorrow she was going to show Sam that he was just another patient.
She'd show herself, too.
Alexandria, Virginia
Rain hit the glistening street. All around him, the cars were expensive and the yards were perfectly manicured.
Quiet little street.
Quiet little world.
The man crouched between a vintage Triumph and a silver Mazda. Unmoving, he watched the darkness, checking for any signs of surveillance. By nature he was patient, and his training had honed that patience tenfold.
Seeing nothing, he allowed his body to relax as he stared up at the dark apartment on the third floor.
His lips twisted.
Sam McKade, the perfect hero in his perfect little world. But not for much longer.
McKade wasn't going to be recuperating, not this time. He'd already traced the Navy's reigning hero to two possible locations. When he realized one was an upscale resort and spa on the California coast, he'd almost laughed. But his sources had never been wrong yet, so he was headed west as soon as he finished a few last details.
Starting here.
“You're damned good, McKade. Fortunately, I'm a lot better. Proving that is going to be a pleasure.” He checked his watch, made another inventory of the tools he'd need for his mission: glass cutter, lock pick, crowbar, surgical gloves. Everything the well-dressed burglar needed for a night out on the town.
The thought amused him, and he smiled as he moved away from the Mazda. Still crouched, he turned toward the small side yard.
Something glinted down the street, inside a parked Explorer. Instantly he flattened, rolled hard, crawled two cars forward, then hunkered down to reconnoiter.
He caught another glint, light on glass.
Field glasses, he decided. Maybe even a night scope, although the streetlights would make night vision hell to use.
He waited, certain the street was being watched, but no car doors opened and no motors kicked in. Staying low, he crawled beneath a food truck and two SUVs, then bellied his way up a drainpipe that let him out on the perfectly mowed lawn of the public library.
As he surveyed the street, the hair rose along his neck. He knew he hadn't imagined the glint of distant glasses.
Now the night's B and E would have to wait.
He took one last look at Sam McKade's silent apartment, stripped off his surgical gloves, and tossed them into the drainpipe. He smiled, just a little, at the thought of their faces when they finally understood. But they wouldn't understand for months, of course.
He cut through an alley, circled two streets over, and swung into his own transport. He actually caught the surveillance team leaving the Explorer as his own battered District of Columbia utility truck lumbered down the alley where he'd parked it several hours earlier. The truck was authentic, right down to the employee ID taped on the dash. Only the plates were lifted, and there was no way the theft would show up on any computers yet.
Humming softly, he passed the two arguing men and vanished into the night.
“THERE WAS NO ONE THERE, I TELL YOU. ”
“Bullshit.” The man called Fanelli stared down the street, watching a utility truck turn around the corner. “He was there. I made him through the glasses, right next to that silver Mazda.”
“You had too much Thai food for dinner, man.”
Fanelli rubbed his neck. After twelve years on the force, he knew when surveillance had been blown. “We better call it in anyway.” There was a lot of pressure from the chief on this one.
The two cops moved uneasily, staring up at the dark apartment, wondering who lived there and why they'd been assigned to watch both entrances, night after night.
Had to be someone damned important, but neither of them said it.
“Hell with this.” Fanelli stared at the drizzle captured beneath the streetlights. “Let's check out the premises, just to be sure no one got inside. Then I'm getting my sorry butt somewhere warm. Five minutes for some decent coffee won't make any difference. You ask me, this whole assignment is chickenshit anyway. Let the G-men do their own work.”
He turned up his collar and strode down the sidewalk, unaware that the utility truck had cut its lights and eased into a spot less than six cars behind him, where its driver had a perfect view of the whole street.
Chapter Thirteen
THE SUN HAD BARELY TOUCHED THE TREES WHEN ANNIE HEARD the scrape of metal, followed by the thunk of a falling body. Her heart raced as she sprinted toward Sam's room.
He was balanced with one shoulder against a bookshelf while he tried to reclaim his fallen crutches.
“Is there a medical name for your particular form of insanity?” Annie demanded.
“Sure.” Sam caught the edge of the crutch and pulled it up slowly. “It's called work.”
Annie guided him into the nearby chair and took his crutches. “Breaking news. Any work you do gets supervised by me. That's what the Navy is paying me for.” When he tried to stand up, she blocked him, hands against his shoulders. “Is anyone home?”
“There was no need to bother you.”
“Wrong. You're supposed to bother me.”
“Go back to sleep.” His eyes were hard and focused. “You need your rest. You don't sleep very well.”
She stared at him, hands on her hips, entirely oblivious to the way her worn Lakers' T-shirt flirted with the soft curve of her thighs. “Do you want to repeat that?”
Sam's gaze flickered to her legs, then quickly away. “Hard not to notice. The bed creaks, then you turn over and hit the wall. Pretty noisy.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You talk a hell of a lot, too.”
“I talk in my sleep? No way.”
Sam shrugged lightly. “Only two of us in here, unless you had company last night.”
Annie glared back in silence.
“Okay. Wasn't me, so it had to be you.” He raised a brow. “No one ever told you that? Not anyone you slept with?”
Aware that her T-shirt was riding up, Annie yanked it down angrily. “None of your business.”
“I'll take that as a no,” he said coolly. “Could annoy someone trying to sleep next to you. Especially if he was bone tired from—” He cleared his throat and chose his next words carefully. “From a strenuous night of world-class sex.”
“What makes you think sex with me would be world class?” Annie knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left her mouth.
He angled a lingering glance from her flushed cheeks to her bare feet. “Oh, yeah, Doc. Gotta be world class with a body like that. You're in prime physical shape, good muscle tone
from all those massages.” His eyes glinted. “Makes me feel a little distracted just thinking about it.”
It was making Annie a lot more than distracted, but she refused to dwell on their last sizzling encounter, when they'd torn off each other's clothes beneath a starlit sky on the deck of his yacht.
She felt her cheeks flush again.
“Something wrong, Doc?”
“Stop calling me that. I'm your physiotherapist, not your doctor.”
“Whatever you say.”
“And my sex life is none of your business.”
“Too bad.” He started to say something else, but stopped himself. “Message received.” His eyes slanted toward her legs again, and he looked away. “Any other rules I should know about?”
“One, you wake me if you have a problem.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Annie ignored the challenge in his voice. “Two, any exercise you do gets done with my—or Izzy's—supervision.”
He took longer to answer this time. “How do you define exercise?”
“Anything, mister. If it's more strenuous than yawning, I want to know.”
“Bossy, aren't you?”
“You haven't seen anything yet. I've eaten two-hundred-eighty-pound linebackers for breakfast.” If there was a double meaning there, Annie didn't want to think about it.
Sam met her angry gaze with a faint smile, which only flustered her more. “Is that story they tell true?”
She crossed her arms, then dropped them when she realized it hitched up her T-shirt a good three inches. “What story?”
“The one about you and the NFL quarterback. I hear he tried to sneak in a football before you thought he was ready to start throwing again.”
“The next morning he found a dozen pieces of boiled pigskin mixed in his jalapeño omelette,” Annie finished coldly. “Yes, it's true. Now do you agree to rule number two or not?”
“Noticed that, did you?” Sam rubbed his jaw slowly. “Don't suppose you'd accept a maybe. ”
“Don't suppose.”
“Hell.” He studied the brace on his leg, then shrugged. “Agreed. Anything else?”
“Five minutes for me to make coffee, five minutes for me to dress.”
“No need to bother dressing on my account. That T-shirt is the best fashion statement I've seen in quite a while.”
“Very funny.” Annie gave the Lakers' shirt a last tug, relinquishing the idea of another hour's sleep. “See you in ten minutes. Do not think about moving until I get back.”
“Sure thing, Doc. I won't think about anything.” He watched her huff outside, then permitted himself a wide grin. “Except maybe that gorgeous pair of legs you've got,” he muttered.
WHEN ANNIE RETURNED, SHE WAS DRESSED IN LYCRA CAPRIS and a matching Lycra exercise top that bared most of her midriff.
“Looking good, Doc,” Sam murmured.
“Save your flattery.” She put a bottle down beside him. “Here's your water. Drink frequently, whether you're thirsty or not. Dehydration can be a real problem during exercise.”
Sam didn't appear to hear. He was staring at her feet. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You've been walking funny ever since yesterday.”
“I always walk funny when I get four hours of sleep.” The world wasn't fair, Annie thought. How could he look so rugged, so calm?
So gorgeous.
He was supposed to be the sick one. Instead he looked relaxed and focused, his unruly hair and two-day stubble dangerously sexy. A black turtleneck only added to his dangerous good looks.
Going without sleep made men look tough and adventurous. It made women look scary.
Annie tried not to think about the dark circles and puffy eyes that marked her own restless night. “Can we stop dissecting my walk and get to work?” She cut off his answer, pacing briskly to the terrace outside his room.
“What's the rush?”
“I've got an early meeting with my accountant.”
“Sounds like loads of fun.”
“Yeah, Arnold's a real laugh fest.” She opened a wooden storage chest and pulled out a big blue ball. Made of soft rubber, it bounced smoothly when she dropped it. “This is your new best friend. You two are going to spend lots of time together. You can start by sitting down on it.”
Sam stared at the ball with disdain. “I don't have time for children's games. I need to get back in shape. That means hard work to get me strong and mobile. Maybe then I'll—”
Annie sat down on the ball and stared up at him. “Maybe then you'll what?”
He looked over her shoulder. “Remember.”
She nodded slowly, understanding what drove him so relentlessly. “Being strong will help, Sam, but it may not bring all the answers.”
“I'll have to risk that. My options are a little limited right now. Can we get down to some real work?”
Annie stood up and rolled the ball toward him. “Be my guest. It's harder than it looks, trust me.”
“It's just a big ball. How hard can it be?”
“Try it.”
“The only hard thing will be maneuvering with this damned brace.” More irritated than ever, Sam propped one crutch against the wall and sank downward.
Annie forced herself not to help him as he tottered slightly, then settled on the ball.
“I don't see what's the big deal. Anyone can sit on a—”
Without warning he slid backward. Muttering, he pushed back up, opening his legs for balance. Even then he shifted slightly, rolling from side to side, his abs working to keep him upright. “I can feel this all through my back.”
“That's the idea. This ball uses the stabilizing muscles in your back as well as your abs and thighs. It also develops upper-body strength and helps your balance.” She smiled innocently. “Especially with the ten-pound dumbbell I'm going to give you.”
“Ten pounds is nothing.” He took the weight, working hard to stay upright. “What do you want to me to do now, balance plates?”
“We're going to work your right shoulder, tricep, and delt. At the same time, you'll be strengthening your back and abs on the ball. Hold the weight at your side, without moving your arms. Exhale as you raise your shoulder, inhale as you lower.”
He worked through the movements stiffly, as if it were a fight to make his body listen, but the movements gradually became smoother.
For thirty minutes they focused on his good arm, running through front and side arm lifts, hammer curls and biceps curls, all seated, which demanded torso strength and concentration.
At the end of his workout, Sam was flushed and sweating slightly. Annie noticed his mouth twitch whenever he bent his left elbow.
“Let's take a break.”
“I want to keep going.”
Annie blew out an irritated breath. “Your elbow's bothering you, Sam.”
“Nothing big. I didn't even use that side yet.”
Frowning, Annie lifted away his weight. “Pushing through warning signs is a dumb idea.”
“Are you calling me dumb?”
She shook her head. “I'm calling you dumb and stubborn.”
He said nothing, massaging his elbow.
“Let me do that.” She checked the joint, feeling for resistance. “How long have you had this knot on the back of your arm?”
“Don't remember. Maybe I hit it when I fell last night.”
“You fell and you didn't call me?”
“There was no need. I handled it myself.”
“I'm supposed to be helping you, Sam. H-e-l-p. That means you call me if you have a problem.”
“I was clumsy and I slipped. There was no blood and the pain was minimal, so I decided to let you sleep.” His eyes narrowed. “It was the least I could do after ripping into you yesterday.”
An apology?
Annie opened her mouth for a scathing answer, then closed it. No emotions, she told herself. Nothing personal. “Next time wake me up. Meanwhile, I w
ant that swelling on the back of your arm checked out.”
“Fine.” Sam pulled a towel from the nearby table and wiped his face. Annie saw his jaw harden at the movement. “Right after we finish the workout.”
“You're insatiable, do you know that?”
“Am I?” Something flickered in his eyes. “I don't know what I am. I can't remember enough to know.” He wadded the towel tightly between his fingers. “Not one damn thing that matters.”
Annie touched his arm gently. “You're too stubborn to let anything get past you for long.”
“Was that a compliment, Doc?”
“Probably not.”
“Good. I don't think I like compliments. Criticism is more useful. Now tell me what's really wrong with your feet.”
“I told you, I—”
“That was the lie,” he said patiently. “Now try the truth.”
Annie winced as her heel brushed against one of the dumbbells on the floor. “If you must know, you knocked over a glass the night you arrived. I wasn't wearing slippers.” She omitted the part about the glass slivers she'd dug out for an hour afterward.
“Why didn't you say something?”
“At the time I was a little distracted trying to keep you in bed.”
“Hell.” His gaze rose slowly, following the trim line of her body. He took her hand and brushed it with his lips. “Sorry for that.”
Annie shivered, trying not to feel.
Trying not to remember.
“Sorry for what?”
He gently kissed her open palm. “For causing you pain.”
“Forget it.”
Sam traced the inside of her wrist. “I don't think I can.”
It took all Annie's strength not to lean closer and pull his mouth up to meet hers.
She stepped back, clearing her throat. “Let's get to work. But first you take your pain pill.”
“Already had it.”
Fine. If the stubborn fool wanted to play this game the hard way, so be it.
“Let's work on your leg. Lateral lifts.”
Annie was rolling out a padded exercise mat in the living room when she heard him stop. He was staring at her, one shoulder against the door. “Are you involved with anyone?”
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