by Amy Olle
She didn’t risk her good fortune by swinging, but lounged and listened to the waves dipping and diving toward shore while she absorbed her surroundings. Three sets of glass patio doors ran the length of the house, and weathered cedar shingles covered the remainder of the home’s exterior. The lush greenery sheltering her from the sun was mostly weeds, but in a broken pot in the corner of the patio, a half-dead non-weed plant gasped for life.
Bounding out of the hammock, she rescued the plant from its spot in the sweltering sun, and then she found a place for it in a patch of rich soil tucked alongside the northern ridge of the decking. Likely, the plant was too far gone, but she had to try to save it.
A search of the kitchen turned up no utensils that might be used to shovel a hole, so she dug with her fingers and set the plant into the nourishing ground. Then she packed dirt around its base and, using a shard of the broken pot, fetched water from the kitchen sink. Lost in her work, the nervous tension and angst that’d been spiraling through her began to loosen their hold on her.
Her task complete, she reclaimed her place in the hammock, sinking carefully down into the cloth sling. More tension eased from her as a contented sigh. If she owned a place like this, she’d never want to leave. Except maybe to get some Wi-Fi.
As the sun marched toward its apex, the day’s heat grew steadily warmer. Despite the shade, moisture glistened on her skin and when she could no longer stop herself, she clambered clumsily to her feet and set off for the water.
The sand burned beneath her bare feet and she scurried along, hustling into the cool and refreshing waves at the water’s edge. She waded in up to her knees and bent over to drop her hands beneath the surface. She rolled the hem of her baggy cotton shorts up as high as they’d go and roamed farther out to meet the surf rolling in.
The water grabbed hold of the angst that had been roiling inside her the past day, months, years, and drew the turmoil from her body, dragging it all out to sea with its retreat. Her heart lightened. She lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes.
Just then, a large wave rolled in and knocked into her with such force that she fell back into the water.
Her indignation quickly washed away with the receding water. She clawed her way to her feet and plunged headlong into the waves as they rushed forward. The cut in her side ached, but the pain didn’t bother her enough to stop her fun. Not until she was soaked through and out of breath did she turn back and trudge toward shore.
But she stumbled to find Leo standing on the beach, the fierce scowl still marring his striking features. As she emerged from the water, her drenched clothing clung to her and his gaze swept like seeking hands over her body. With the heat in his eyes, a delicious tension coiled low in her belly. Immediately her mind returned to that hotel room in Ohio.
She’d never spent much time thinking about her figure, or her sexuality, but it was suddenly all she could think about. The sweet tease of his fingers had sparked something too long ignored inside her, and the way he looked at her now, his hot gaze caressing the contours of her body, making sure to touch every dip and swell, set her heart racing.
Emboldened, she didn’t try to hide herself, though she knew the thin fabric of her wet sleep clothes must reveal… everything. When he finally dragged his eyes from her breasts to her face, she offered him a knowing smile.
His frown deepened. “You should come inside.”
Then he twisted around and strode toward the house, but not before his bold gaze took one more long, hungry appraisal of her body.
A thrill chased through her, touching all the places that had longed for him all the years he was away.
Aron had never looked at her like that, and when he’d told her she was too puny and inexperienced for his tastes, the hit had left a permanent mark on her self-esteem. She hadn’t felt sexy since. Instead, she’d been frozen for six aching years, convinced she wasn’t attractive to men. All these years, she’d believed she wasn’t sexy or sexual.
But Leo’s hot gazes, along with the incredible thing he’d done in that hotel room, had set afloat a balloon of hope inside her. Maybe she wasn’t deficient. Maybe, with a little study and practice, she could overcome her inadequacies.
A light wind kissed her wet skin and hair as she followed him up the gently sloping beach. She let her fingers graze the tops of the beach grasses as she passed by. In both directions, sandy beach extended as far as she could see, and not a single other house or building was visible anywhere along the shoreline. Behind Leo’s home, the large trees she remembered from the drive in swayed in the breeze. It was as though the house was tucked away among the treetops, in a secret world known only to them.
He slid open the patio door and waited for her to enter the house before him. When she slipped past him, she risked a glance at his face. His green eyes captured hers and she froze, halted by the force of his compelling gaze.
Searching his eyes, she spotted a touch of the panic she’d witnessed in the parking lot at her work the day that car had backfired.
She swallowed convulsively. “It isn’t safe to go out there?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, setting off a flurry of flutters in her stomach.
“It’s okay,” he said. “But I should be with you next time.”
He shut the screen with a soft thump that caused her to jump. Then he crossed to the kitchen where a mountain of grocery totes lay in a haphazard heap on the island countertop.
Had he dropped everything to go in search of her?
His head bent, he rummaged through a few of the sacks before plucking a beach towel from one of them. He tossed it to her, then continued to unpack the shopping bag.
She used the towel to wring the moisture from her hair as she approached the kitchen island. When she’d finished, she draped the towel over a barstool and turned to the nearest tote. She kept a close watch on Leo, trying to assess his mood as she set a container of strawberries, a melon, and a head of lettuce next to a bag of apples on the counter.
From the next bag, she retrieved a loaf of bread, hamburger buns, three bags of varying kinds of chips, and a variety pack of cheese slices while across the island, he produced boxes of cereal, several packs of meat, and tubs of peanut butter, yogurt, and ice cream.
“Wow,” she said. “This is a lot of food.”
Sheepishly, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what you like.”
She stared down at the array of frozen vegetables and dinner entrees he’d unpacked. He didn’t know what she liked, so he’d bought a little bit of everything. For her.
A silly bubble of pleasure expanded in her chest. “I like all of this. Thank you.”
For emphasis, her stomach released a noisy growl.
Hearing it, he offered her a box of cereal. She bit down on her bottom lip and she took the box from him. While she worked at opening it, he pulled a package of plastic bowls from one of the other bags and ripped into them. He handed her a bowl before rifling through another bag to produce a gallon of milk.
But he didn’t slide the carton across the counter to her.
Instead, he pinned her with a solemn look. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked cautiously.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” The torment behind his eyes landed like a blow on her heart. “I thought I could handle it, but… I misjudged.”
Questions piled in her throat. Why is it hard for you to be here? Don’t you like it? Is that why you haven’t moved in? Are you going to move in? When? Is it because of Rose? Why don’t you ever smile?
But instinct, and the dark shadows stalking his expression, warned her against asking even one of them.
“You don’t have internet,” she said instead.
He pushed the gallon of milk over to her.
“I never got around to setting it up.” A frown touching his features, he flicked the switch next to the kitchen sink and the overhead light flickered on. “At least we have power now.”
>
She poured cereal into her plastic bowl and passed him the box as he handed her a plastic spoon.
“Who’s Paul Cook?”
At his unexpected question, the milk nearly slipped from her grasp. She returned the jug to the counter, but hesitated to answer. What if she told him what she was investigating and, like Faith, he thought she sounded crazy?
“Prue, I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me everything.”
“Everything, huh? That could take a while.”
Nothing. Not even a lip twitch.
He dropped his head and stared down at the counter. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I can’t stay here.”
Her heart plummeted like a stone sinking to the sea floor. He was going to make her leave?
His head came up and he regarded her with grave eyes. “The sooner we figure out who’s trying to hurt you, the sooner we can put an end to all this and go back to our normal lives.”
Suddenly, her heart raced for a reason other than the way Leo was looking at her. Well, the reason was still because of the way he looked at her, but he no longer appeared to want to gobble her up, as he had in the hotel room and on the beach only moments ago. Now, he considered her with a calculating gleam.
“He’s a journalist,” she said. “A few months ago, he wrote a profile piece about a foreign politician. After I read it, I wanted to know more, so I contacted him to ask some questions. One thing lead to another and pretty soon, I was down the rabbit hole with him, digging into this hopelessly corrupt politician—who is also a drug trafficker, it turns out—and the ginormous network of mobsters and criminals he does business with. I haven’t sorted it all out yet, but—”
She stopped speaking when he straightened away from the counter and stumbled back. His hand rubbed the center of his chest.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re a journalist?”
At the look of horror contorting his features, she laughed. “No. Not at all. I stumbled onto something that confused me, and bothered me, and I had no idea what to do.” She lifted one shoulder. “But I’m a researcher, so I started researching.”
“Is that what you do at the Institute? Research?”
She shook her head. “No. I make coffee. Answer phones. That sort of thing.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The research is something I used to do. A long time ago.” She snuck a sideways glance at him. “I studied physics and chemistry at MIT.”
After a lengthy pause in which he studied her intently, he asked, “Why did you give it up?”
Emotion squeezed her throat and she knew she’d never be able to tell him the truth of it. But he waited, expectant, and she had to tell him something. So she settled on an age-old wound that, although it’d left an ugly scar, didn’t hurt quite so much anymore.
“My parents didn’t approve.”
His eyebrows inched upward. “How the hell could anyone’s parents disapprove of an education at one of the best universities in the world?”
“They didn’t mind that so much, but as a kid, I asked a lot of questions. They’re… kind of religious, and I think they thought I was… I don’t know, attacking their beliefs or something.”
The hard set of his features seemed to soften. “You were a heretic, were ya?”
Her jaw dropped slightly ajar. Was that…? Was he… being funny? On his cheeks, two dents flirted with forming, and if his smile ever broke loose, she suspected she might glimpse two of the sexiest dimples imaginable.
She attempted a smile of her own, but in the end, it faltered. “I guess so. All I wanted to do was study. To figure it all out, you know? To find the truth.”
His eyes probed her face, reaching into her thoughts. “The truth, with a capital T?”
Her cheeks warmed. “It was dumb, I know.”
“It’s not dumb,” he said softly. “You wanted to find God.”
Startled, her head snapped up. “How did you know that?”
His expression, open briefly, suddenly shuddered. “It’s something I used to do. A long time ago.” He lobbed her own words back at her.
“Why did you give it up?” she volleyed.
A light glittered in his eyes for the briefest of moments before it sputtered out. “I got the answers to my questions.”
His tone held a lightness she’d never heard from him before, but it didn’t quite manage to disguise the sadness in his eyes.
With a sudden shift in his posture, he cleared his throat. “So we have bots, an overseas crime ring, and a real-life deranged criminal. What am I missing?”
“I don’t understand it fully myself yet.” With Faith’s pessimism still fresh in her mind, she opted for a different entry point into the tale. “When I started researching this corrupt politician, I discovered he was involved in several business ventures with lots of prominent people, but something wasn’t adding up.”
At first, she picked her words carefully, delving into the web of connections she’d uncovered, but soon her caution caused her to trip over names and provide stilted explanations. Once, she stopped midsentence and changed track entirely.
He frowned.
She talked faster, and when she realized in her effort to talk around one thing—or person—she was rambling, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to cut off the painful chatter.
The pucker between Leo’s eyebrows deepened. “It’s a money laundering scheme?”
“Yes.” She pushed out a sharp breath. “A massive one.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “What good does smuggling all those drugs do you if you can’t spend your ill-gotten gains?”
“Exactly. Oh, and guns. Drugs and guns.”
“Of course.” His mouth pulled into a thin line. “Is our corrupt politician behind all of this criminal activity?”
“Well, it’s a massive group of bad guys,” she hedged. “But… one other name does keep popping up.”
“What name is that?”
Beneath the sweep of her eyelashes, she risked a glance at him. “Aron King.”
Leo went still. “The security contractor?”
She nodded.
“He’s not an enemy you want to have.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her reaction to his words. “But you already knew that.”
Her gaze slipped away. “Given his history, it’s a safe assumption.”
“You know him, then?”
When her hands started to shake, she buried them in her lap. “Not anymore.”
She should have told Leo the truth about her history with Aron, and everything that followed, but she couldn’t find her voice. Would he view things differently if he knew she and Aron had dated? If you could call the scam that was their relationship dating. Or would he, like Faith, assume a host of corrupt motivations drove her pursuit of the truth?
Rather than poke at her evasive answer as she expected him to, he granted her a reprieve, asking instead, “Your plan is to take them all down?”
Though it sounded ridiculous to hear it spoken out loud, she didn’t deny it. “I thought if I could expose one or two of the key players, the entire network might be jeopardized, and possibly collapse.”
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. Head down, he studied the floor tiles. “We’ll need help.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “You would help me?”
“I would, and I am.”
“But what if I’m wrong?” She couldn’t keep out the hint of challenge that crept into her voice. “What if I’m just making it all up?”
“Are you making it all up?”
“No, but you have to admit, a gang of politicians and mobsters and mercenaries all working together to create so much chaos sounds a little crazy.” She watched him closely. “Like a ridiculous conspiracy theory.”
A touch of exasperation crept into his expression. “Someone tried to kill you.”
Her stomach wrenched. No longe
r hungry, she pushed her bowl away.
“Look, you don’t sound crazy,” he said softly. “What you’re talking about sounds like a fairly typical organized crime ring, to be honest. And besides, all investigations into conspiracy start with a conspiracy theory, don’t they? There should be records—banking transactions, shell company filings, lawsuits—to help separate fact from fiction. Do you have anything like that?”
“So that guy—” Her words rasped with the memory of her attacker’s hand closed around her throat. “The one that broke into my apartment. I don’t think he was trying to kill me.”
His sharp focus remained tight on her face.
“I think he was looking for something,” she said. “And I just got in the way.”
“Looking for something, such as…?”
“My laptop.”
“Why? What’s on your laptop?”
“Records. Lots and lots of records.”
Chapter Twelve
While Prue slipped off the barstool and scurried to retrieve her laptop, Leo frowned after her. She’d been cautious in her responses to him. He’d listened to the particular way she’d parsed her words, seeking clues about what she wasn’t telling him, and why, but he hadn’t been able to identify the reason for her secrecy.
Though if he were a betting man, and he was, he’d wager his life savings that it had something to do with Aron King.
Founder and former owner of the private security firm where Leo once worked, Aron was widely regarded as power hungry and ruthless. Leo had met the man on a number of occasions and basically agreed with that assessment. He was also a conceited prick.
After Leo had left the company, King drew it into scandal by authorizing a chemical weapons strike in a small village in Iraq. Use of the chemicals, strictly prohibited by international law, led to a trial and conviction of the men on the ground carrying out the attack. The controversy had forced King to leave Blackstone, and last Leo had heard, he’d started a new company training police and military in developing countries.
