by Elle James
“Sit.”
Moby squatted on his haunches, his tail swishing across the floor, and then he grew still, his ears twitching upward.
Before Emma or Creed could stop him, the dog dashed through the door and out into the fog.
“Moby!” Emma cried.
Creed spun, ran after the dog and grabbed him before he could leap the short white picket fence and disappear into the Devil’s Shroud.
“Thank goodness you caught him.” Emma grabbed Moby’s collar, but the animal wasn’t content to return to the house. He lunged at the fence, dragging his master with him, growling at the dark fog.
“Let me.” Creed regained control of the dog and led him back into the house.
Moby fought him every step of the way, as if there was something hidden in the fog on the outside of the fence he had to get to.
A chill slipped like a spider crawling across his skin. Creed pulled Moby into the house. As soon as Emma cleared the door, he closed it and inspected the locks.
She had a dead bolt on the front door. “Where’s your back door?”
“Through the kitchen. Why?”
“Do you have a dead bolt on it?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “When you tell me why.”
“I like the women I date to stay safe.”
Her brows wrinkled. “We’re not dating.”
“According to Nora, we are.” He glanced around, found the kitchen and headed for the back door. After testing that the dead bolt was indeed locked, he glanced at the window in the door and frowned. “You should get this door replaced with a solid one. Anyone can break that window and open your dead bolt.”
“Yeah, genius. And anyone could break one of the windows and get in even more easily. What are you afraid of?”
“You heard the chief. The dead man on the yacht didn’t drown. He was shot and left to go down with the ship.”
“So? We didn’t shoot him, nor did we see who did.”
“We were on the yacht. I suspect whoever killed the captain didn’t plan on the yacht going down when it did and probably had to abandon ship. If there was anything on that boat worth killing for, it likely went down with it.”
Emma’s frown deepened. “You’re sounding all conspiracy theory now. It was just a yacht that sank in the Devil’s Shroud.”
“With a murdered man on it.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t mean we’ll be targeted next. We have nothing to hide.”
“Just promise me you’ll lock the dead bolts.”
“I do. Every night.”
“And don’t walk outside in the dark without Moby.”
“He wouldn’t let me.” A smile slipped across her face. “Are you scared for me, squid? Because if you are, I can take care of myself.”
“Do you have a firearm?”
Her frown disappeared. “As a matter of fact, I do. An HK380.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“I took lessons at the place where I bought it, and I go to the firing range with Gabe once a quarter.”
“Good.”
“And I also have a can of mace.” She gave him a level stare. “I believe I can take care of myself.”
“Mace is only good if you get close enough to spray them in the face, and that’s assuming you keep it readily available and they don’t shoot you first.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me.” She shivered, her face growing pale. “We’re in Cape Churn, not Portland or Seattle. Things don’t happen here.”
“What about the serial killer they found here a few months ago?”
“You heard about that?” Emma started to say something, then bit down on her bottom lip. “Okay, I’ll lock the doors and keep my mace and my pistol handy. Satisfied?”
No, he wasn’t. Macias was known to send his hired thugs in to do his dirty work with carte blanche on how they went about it. Some of his targets were shot point-blank, others were electrocuted in their own bathtubs and still others were stabbed multiple times or tortured before they were allowed to die.
If Macias thought for a moment Emma had anything that belonged to him, he’d pursue her relentlessly.
Creed stared across at her. She’d already shed her sandals and stood in her feminine sundress and bare feet, her sandy-blond, sun-kissed hair hanging down to her shoulders, her gray eyes dark and troubled.
“Say something.”
He stepped closer and tipped her chin upward. “Listen to Moby. If he’s disturbed, call me. I’ll be here as soon as possible.”
“I don’t see how you’ll do that. It’s a long, winding road out to the B and B,” she said, her voice breathy, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his mouth.
Creed was already on the edge, standing far too close to her. The scent of body wash and shampoo filled his senses.
When her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips, he groaned and pulled her into his arms. He crushed her lips with his, cupping the back of her head, his fingers threading through silky strands. One hand slipped around her waist and down over her hip, drawing her closer against the ridge beneath the thick denim of his jeans.
She opened to him, tasting of lemon and spices, her mouth warm and wet.
His tongue stroked hers, teasing her into a sensuous dance, twisting and tangling until they both came up for air.
Creed kissed a path from her mouth to the side of her neck, tasting her skin beneath her earlobe and downward to the base of her throat where her pulse beat erratically.
“This is wrong.” She pressed her palms against his chest, but didn’t push him away. Instead, she curled her fingers into his shirt. One of her long slender legs slipped up the back of his, the juncture of her legs rubbing against his thigh.
He slipped her sweater off her shoulders, and it fell to the floor.
Moby sniffed it and moved away, flopping on the floor, panting.
Creed pushed the strap of her sundress to the side and nibbled the soft skin of her shoulder, angling downward, shoving aside the fabric to expose the lace of her bra and the smooth swell of her breast.
He cupped the clothed swell in his palm and squeezed.
Her back arched, pressing her breast more firmly into his hand and against his lips. A moan rose up her throat and left her parted lips on a sigh.
Creed pushed the bra down over her breast and a perky, rosy nipple sprang forth, inviting him to taste. He nipped it, rolled the beaded tip around on his tongue and sucked it into his mouth.
Her hand pressed to the back of his head, urging him to take more.
Caught up in a wave of lust, he barely heard Moby woof until he woofed again.
The dog sprang to his feet and ran to the door, barking. He scratched at the door and growled, then barked again.
Creed straightened and spun toward the door. “Does he do that a lot?”
“Only when there’s someone at the door.” Emma tugged her bra back in place and slid her dress straps up over her shoulder. “Someone must be out there.”
“Stay here with Moby. Don’t open the door unless it’s me.” Creed ran for the back door and slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him. Without even the glow of a streetlight, the darkness was made even darker by the heavy fog blanketing the coast. He inched his way around the house, staying close to the bushes, afraid if he stepped away from the building too soon, he’d get lost in the fog and fall over the fence before he saw it. Walking home, they’d made their way along the sidewalk without too much trouble with the concrete as their reference point.
By the time he’d rounded the back and side to the front, he’d adjusted his senses to listen for any noise. The fog dampened the ground, moistening sticks and leaves so that footf
alls would be muffled.
Creed stopped at the corner and strained to hear anything, the snap of a twig, creaking knees or the rustle of fabric as someone moved through the night.
Nothing.
He slipped along the hedges to the front walkway and followed it to the gate. It stood open.
Creed had been the last one through, closing it behind him, knowing Moby was a loose cannon likely to make a run for it. He stepped through the gate and walked along the sidewalk until he came across his rented SUV, locked up tight and appearing the same as it had when he’d left it before they’d gone to dinner. He ran his hand along the base of the doors and around the fenders, feeling for any added devices. If someone was following Emma, they might be following him, as well. Creed wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was the only one smart enough to use a GPS tracking device.
Short of crawling beneath the vehicle, he did the best search he could by feeling his way around the edges, finding nothing.
He left his vehicle and returned to the fence, walking the perimeter outside and inside the white pickets, feeling his way along and finding nothing. When he was certain he’d searched every inch of her little yard, he returned to the front door and knocked softly.
Moby raised a ruckus, barking and clawing at the door. When Emma got him quiet enough she called out, “Who is it?”
“Creed.”
She opened the door and peered into the night, her can of mace pointed at his eyes.
Creed ducked, not wanting to risk being accidentally blinded by a nervous trigger finger.
Emma grabbed his arm and dragged him through the door. “Well?”
“I didn’t find anyone out there.”
She let out a long, slow breath and then glared at him. “All that for nothing? You scared me half to death.”
He pulled her against him and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Sorry. But I’d rather you were scared and safe than oblivious to the possible threat.”
“What threat?” When he started to say something, she raised her hand. “Next time, let me stay blissfully oblivious. I have Moby. He’ll let me know if someone’s lurking around my house, and hopefully all the noise he makes will keep an intruder from attempting a break in.” She grabbed the door handle and opened the door. “If the fog clears, we’ll have a busy morning. I need my rest. Go.”
Having received his marching orders, Creed bowed out gracefully. Reluctantly, but gracefully. Unconvinced of her safety after the way Moby had behaved.
He touched the side of Emma’s cheek and bent to brush her lips with a kiss, risking a possible slap in the face. When she returned the pressure, he was glad he’d taken the risk.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He left, closing the door firmly between them.
He stayed on her porch until he heard the dead bolt click into place. Walking slowly, he found his way to the SUV and climbed in. The fog hung like a heavy blanket over the road. When he cranked the engine and turned on the headlights, the glow reflected back in his eyes, penetrating no farther ahead than a few feet.
Shifting into Drive, he cast one last glance toward her house. The only indication it was there was the soft glow of her front porch light, muted by the tiny droplets of moisture.
He hoped she was right and there was nothing to worry about. Moby might not be ferocious or a warrior, but he’d generate enough noise to make an intruder think twice.
Creed eased his foot onto the accelerator and leaned forward, as if that would help him to see any farther ahead than the front of his vehicle. Keeping the SUV between the lines on the road, he moved forward. Half a block away, he nearly hit a car parked on the side of the road. He made a mental note of the license plate and moved slowly past. The interior was dark and, at first glance, it appeared empty.
As he passed, a brief flash of light caught his attention, as if from the display screen of a smart phone. Creed slowed and peered through his window into the vehicle beside him. He couldn’t swear to it, but he thought he saw a shadowy figure hunched over the console. It could have been a jacket left behind or a blanket, but his gut told him it was a person. Someone hiding from view.
All Creed’s warning bells went off. He drove by, creeping farther down the street. He turned at the first road to the left, driving past the shadows of a couple houses before he parked and turned off his headlights in front of an empty lot.
Whoever was parked on the side of the road had hidden from view. Why would he not want to be seen, unless he was there for nefarious reasons? A secret teenage assignation? A desperate man spying on his ex-wife? A terrorist looking for the goods he needed to build a dirty bomb that could potentially kill millions?
Creed wasn’t leaving Emma alone on her quiet little street. If he returned to the B and B, he’d be too far away to respond quickly. He sat in the SUV, debating whether or not to walk back the way he’d come and confront the person in the car.
Instead, he entered the phone number Molly had given him and waited for Emma to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice was clear and soft with a slight gravelly quality, melting over him like milk chocolate. His body reacted accordingly, warmth spreading throughout, his groin tightening.
“I forgot to give you my phone number.”
“I don’t need it,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Well, now you have it on your cell phone as a recent call. If you do happen to need anything, don’t hesitate.”
“I won’t be calling,” she assured him.
“Good night, Emma.”
“Good night, Creed.” The way she spoke his name with the rumble of gravel deep in her throat chased the cool dampness away, if only for a moment. Then she clicked off the phone, and the interior of his vehicle grew dark.
The next call he made was to SOS headquarters, reporting the license plate of the vehicle parked on Emma’s street. Maybe someone back in D.C. could track down the stalker, if he was a stalker.
Creed leaned his seat back and settled in for the night, a block away from Emma. He’d be tired in the morning, but had he gone on to the B and B he wouldn’t have rested at all knowing he’d possibly put Emma in danger.
Tomorrow, he’d try to get close enough to the shiny white yacht in the bay to read its markings and send the information to Royce. If the yacht could be traced, he’d have the capabilities to do it at SOS headquarters with their powerful computers and the equally powerful Geek running them.
Creed’s sense of urgency made him fidget through the night, even more so than the discomfort of his long body being cramped in the confines of the vehicle.
Time was running out.
He reasoned that if the cargo had been moved from the yacht before it sank, Phillip would have it by now and would leave the area immediately. Yet the big yacht in the bay had been there as the fog settled in. The fact someone was watching Emma’s house led Creed to believe Phillip didn’t have what he’d come to collect, and he’d do anything to get it.
Chapter 6
Emma tossed and turned through the night. If she wasn’t waking to every little woof Moby emitted, she was dreaming about lying naked with Creed, making love until their bodies glowed with sweat and fulfillment.
Twice she woke, having kicked off the blankets and sheets. The skimpy nightgown she wore was a twisted knot around her middle, and her body ached with an unsatisfied desire. Ever since he’d kissed her... Her lips still burned from the feel of his brushing across them. Even after she’d brushed her teeth, she could taste his tongue against hers. Her throbbing core reminded her that she was young, female and had needs. Needs Creed had stirred in her when she thought a man was the last thing she wanted in her life.
At two in the morning, Moby got up from his pallet on the floor and trotted through the house like a guard making his rounds,
toenails clicking against hardwood.
Aware of his movements, Emma remained awake until she heard slurpy lapping from the vicinity of the kitchen where she kept Moby’s water bowl. When he finally returned and lay down beside her bed, Emma was able to relax, her hand draped over the side of the bed, rubbing the dog’s silky head.
Moby licked her with a cool wet tongue, reassuring her that he’d be there to warn her should someone get close to the house.
She finally fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake again until six in the morning. The gray light of predawn crept over the back of the house, finding its way through the cracks in her blinds.
Emma stretched, feeling better about the day as gray morning turned to muted sunshine, filling the room with light, brightening her mood. Today she’d find the Anna Maria. Today things would change for the better. She had to believe it.
Worry had weighed far too heavily on her the day before. Action was what she needed.
Throwing back the covers, she leaped from the bed, barely missing Moby as he lumbered to his feet and headed for the front door.
Emma pulled on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and her running shoes. She clipped Moby’s leash on his collar, tucked her house key in her pocket and headed out for a morning run.
With Moby taking the lead, Emma headed south on Sand Dollar Lane, turning left at the first corner. A dark SUV was parked against the curb in front of a vacant lot. The vehicle looked suspiciously like the one Creed had driven up to her house the night before.
Emma stopped beside the vehicle, blatantly peered in and almost laughed out loud. Creed lay in a half leaning, half lying position in the driver’s seat, his cell phone on the console beside him, an arm curled up behind his head, eyes closed.
Her heart warmed. The man had stayed there all night because of her. Guilt warred with irritation. She’d told him she didn’t need anyone to look out for her. She could take care of herself. If she’d known he was out there...what? Would she have invited him in? Had him sleep on the couch? Offered him a pillow from her bed? After that kiss, would he have ended up in her bed?
