Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

  “You don’t miss much, do you? I let the others know what happened. Mixed communications last night put Isaacs outside Blow-Dry’s cabin standing guard until the local cops could take over instead of watching over you. Byrne was with me. Snow did his usual walk-around about nine-thirty and saw nobody.”

  “Interesting that Butch and Zach noticed this Mr. Blow-Dry and your men didn’t.”

  “Apparently our friendly neighborhood thief put on a good bird-watching act. Snow talked to the guy a few times and thought he was clean. He even threw off suspicion by reporting a portable CD-player missing.”

  “You weren’t too hard on Vanessa, I hope.”

  “Not me. When I told her, she nearly choked. She was ready to go out and hunt Janus herself. Alone.”

  “She shouldn’t feel guilty. Everything seemed safe when she left.” She propped herself up on one elbow, one leg bent beneath her, the other with the swollen knee stretched out before her.

  “I told her that. And I’ll get you a phone and set speed dial so you can reach me no matter what.” It would also contain a GPS tracker. She should’ve been able to call for help. Hell, she wouldn’t have needed help if Isaacs had done his job or Ward had stayed. But Cole couldn’t blame the lapse on them. He was in charge.

  He wished Laura would throw something over herself. No, he didn’t. But she was too tempting, sitting there so open, her world-class legs within reach. Did she have any idea what she did to him? She would soon because his reaction was becoming acutely visible. Down, boy, she’s injured.

  Naked and on top of the covers, he had little means to hide his reaction to her. He raised one knee in partial concealment. “I saw Burt—” he couldn’t help inflecting the name with disdain “—driving to Alderport for the fireworks.”

  “I doubt his involvement in this anyway. And we know he’s not the thief.” She tugged her hair behind her ears. The action lifted her breasts and drew his gaze.

  He nearly groaned. “Protecting the little twerp?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “Jealous, cowboy?”

  Jealous? If that was the name for this tangle wrenching his gut. Hell, yes, he was jealous, murderously so of any other man who’d ever touched her. He felt like breaking faces. Straining for control, he schooled his features into detachment. “You do remember that someone — Markos’s hit man — has tried to kill you? More than once? And he’ll try again?”

  “Right. But it’s not Burt.”

  He plucked up her hand from the bed and brought it to his lips. Even the tennis calluses felt feminine. “Maybe now you’ll let me take you to a safe house. We still have nothing concrete to ID this damn killer, and I want you to have more protection.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “That piano almost made dust out of me. Or part of the cellar floor. I considered a safe house, but no, I’m making my stand here.” Arms folded, she appeared ready to duke it out if he disagreed. She’d win because he couldn’t take his eyes off her body.

  He kneaded the sheets instead of reaching for her. “Providing you can still stand.”

  “Very funny. I’m better now. See, the swelling’s down on my knee.”

  He nodded, dragging his gaze downward to the still puffy knee. “The ice packs helped.”

  “I know what would make me feel even better.” Her throaty voice dropped to a heated honey-dripping tone that sent his heart whacking his ribs. She bent closer so that the hard peaks of her nipples tickled the sensitive skin on his torso. When her pink tongue moistened the hollow at the base of his throat, he shuddered.

  Her caresses were stiffening him like the wrought-iron bedposts, but sex might chafe her injuries. He could wait. He wasn’t some horny kid. Or maybe he was. A groan escaped his lips. “Another ice pack?”

  Her husky chuckle doubled his aching need to nearly bursting. “No, but ice might decrease a certain other swelling. Interesting — that swelling looks hard, not puffy like my knee….”

  “Fiend.” As her fingers trailed down his belly, he gritted out the next words between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to flatten you again, Wile E.”

  “You won’t. And until you yield, I’ll just keep you pumped up — like my knee.” She gazed at him with enough heat to incinerate the bed. The pink tip of her tongue crept out to lick her full lower lip. “What was that Pashto word for get down?”

  He groaned as she scored one fingernail down his belly toward the more than ready anatomy in question. “Samla.”

  She smiled, a feline creature with her prey. “Samla, big boy, samla.”

  Unable to withstand her torment any longer, Cole rolled to his side, pulling her full against him, skin to skin. “Be gentle with me, Murphy.”

  In reply, she clasped her hands behind his neck and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue swirled around the textures of his inner lips, the underside of his tongue. He reveled in the taste of her — mint toothpaste and Laura.

  Sliding lower, he dropped kisses down the curve of her neck, along her breast bone, to one breast, where he closed his lips over the pink nipple. Sweet.

  Her answering moan was one of pleasure, not pain.

  His fingers found her. She was ready for him, hot and tight and slick with wanting. With his thumb, he massaged the key nerves that would unlock her passion.

  When she arched off the bed and stripped away her boxers, he barely had time to reach for protection before covering her with his body and sliding into her welcoming heat. The throbbing ache of need instantly surged into a wave of pleasure. She clamped herself around him to complete their joining.

  “Cole!” Tears trickled into her temples as she thrashed beneath him. “Please!”

  He couldn’t get enough of her. If sex was all they had, then he’d take it. And her. Only connected with her did he feel secure. Whole.

  Home.

  “Laura,” he rasped out. You’re mine. Mine.”

  When he felt her contractions begin, he could hold release back no longer. Uttering a shout of ecstasy, he poured himself into her in a scalding tide of completion.

  ***

  Before the sailing class, Laura applied makeup, which nearly concealed the scrape on her cheek. A bit warm for long sleeves, but they and light-weight pants hid most of the bruises.

  On the dock, she and Cole had a talk with Butch and Zach about the man who’d been arrested the night before. Cole explained that the man they called Mr. Blow-Dry was the thief who’d taken Zach’s camera and Kay’s MP3 player, but he probably hadn’t switched Laura’s skiff for the damaged one.

  Laura hugged both boys. “You guys were great to go to Mr. Stratton with your sharp observations. You’re my heroes.”

  They beamed. They blushed. Then they ran off, punching each other in the shoulder.

  At Cole’s tight mouth, she made a mental note to tell him later that he was her hero too. He’d rushed off thinking he’d be able to tie up the case only to find Mr. Blow-Dry was the wrong man and she’d faced a serious threat by herself. Clearly, he felt he’d failed her. Success for him was intertwined with his past and his need to prove himself. If he cared for her again, that was also part of his emotional stew.

  Or maybe she should keep quiet. She didn’t want him to care more than he already seemed to, didn’t want him to think their relationship was more than sex and friendship. She’d initiated this morning’s lovemaking out of a deep, fierce need for him that had made her wanton, made her burn for his touch, for his possession. He knew most of her body intimately, even the scars on her neck, but she’d concealed the most telling one along with her secret. Although he might’ve seen it this morning…

  He believed that she disdained the hoodlum lurking within him, no matter what respect and stature he’d earned in his work and as an honorable, kind and generous man. He deserved to know the real reason she must leave him once this horrible situation ended. It was the same reason he would ultimately resent her and reject her.

 
; But revealing the truth now would alter the way he looked at her and the way he thought of her, and she couldn’t face it. Not yet. Not while they still had time together. Cowardly of her. But there it was.

  After the sailing class ended, she and Cole helped Stan and the two DARK officers masquerading as grounds crew set up tables for the afternoon barbecue. Her tennis class and any other regularly scheduled activities were canceled. Games and contests at the barbecue would take their place.

  Once the tables were arranged, Cole hustled her to her cabin and made her rest her knee until the barbecue. He tossed her an ice pack and immersed himself in his laptop.

  In his faded jeans that clung to his muscular thighs like Lycra and a black Harley T-shirt, he looked so masculine and handsome her heart did a little flutter kick. As he worked, he grumbled to himself and occasionally ran his fingers through already disheveled hair.

  “Damn thing!” He slammed the laptop cover shut. “Frozen again. I hope to hell the hard drive’s not kaput.” He stomped off to a corner chair with his phone.

  He was concentrating so hard, he seemed to have walled her out. She picked up the Elizabeth Peters novel she’d started a week ago. The historical mystery, set in Egypt, would ordinarily suck her into its world, but today her mind and heart lingered with Cole. Something was wrong, but she didn’t think it concerned her situation.

  The feel of the phone he’d promised tucked in her pants pocket constantly reminded her of the danger she was in. God, she hoped she never had to use the speed dial, a smiley face on the touch screen.

  Later they walked to the barbecue under a July sun floating high in the azure sky. The aromas of barbecued chicken and other traditional summer treats feathered to them on the freshening breeze, but couldn’t dispel her concern. “Problems beyond the laptop crash?”

  He heaved a sigh and curled a hand beneath her hair and around her nape. The gesture of familiarity and affection pleased her. “It’s Marisol. The little girl in Colombia.”

  She gasped. “Has something happened to her?”

  He gave her neck a gentle squeeze. “Nothing, no. Just glitches in the red tape. The State Department is balking at issuing her a visa. Something about no relatives or a sponsor. I can’t be the sponsor. DARK already frowns on my connection to the San Sebastiano orphanage. Hell, I’m stymied. I’ve contacted everyone I know in D.C.”

  “I know a few people I could call. Old colleagues of Dad’s.”

  He shook his head, his jaw firm, his mouth clamped. “No way. Too dangerous.”

  She stopped walking, wrapped her hand around his forearm. The tension in the muscles was electric. “But Markos already knows where I am. How can it hurt?”

  Removing his hand from her nape, he kneaded his own. His eyes burned with intensity. “As far as all those people you know are concerned, you’ve vanished. If you start calling bigwigs in Washington, it would take about three seconds for the word to get out. The vampires — news media to you — would descend and suck the life out of our op here. Janus and Markos would slip out of the trap, and we’d be back to square one.”

  Her heart twisted at the thought of that little girl not receiving the care she needed. Poor helpless little orphan. At least Laura had some defense against her enemy. “At least let me give you some names. You could call them.”

  He emitted an inarticulate rumble and strode ahead. “Same damn problem once I told them who gave me their name.” His fists were clenched at his side.

  “Mom and Dad could be her sponsor.” She hobbled along to keep up. Her knee felt better, but she couldn’t match his stride.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Laura.” He slowed his pace to suit hers. “Thanks, but their being out of the country doesn’t cut it. There’s a short window here. The doc’s got a date set for the surgery, a week from now. After that he goes to Africa for a year with Doctors Without Borders. This guy’s a pediatric orthopedic specialist. I don’t know if I can arrange the same deal with another surgeon. And the older Marisol gets, the chancier the repair job will be.”

  “And here you are, stuck with me.”

  He turned on his heel so fast her head spun. His mouth was hard, and his eyes drilled hers. “Don’t ever think that way. Keeping you alive and safe is my mission. My only mission. You’re not to worry about Marisol or any of that. I’m here to protect you with my life. I can deal with the surgery glitches once this mess is all over.”

  “And Markos is behind bars.” She smiled to ease his tension. And hers. “Promise me that if there’s any way I can help, you’ll ask.”

  “You got it, sweetheart.” He cupped her elbow, and they proceeded to the broad, sloping lawn between the inn and the beach. He cleared his throat, and a wry grin quirked his lips. “Don’t think the irony has escaped me.”

  She widened her eyes in an innocent expression. “Why whatever do you mean?”

  “The fact that for Marisol’s sake I’m asking for the kind of connections I’ve always resented.”

  “I’m so proud. You got it.” She poked him in the bicep with an index finger. “Not only that, but you’re opening doors with your own credentials, your own influence.”

  “Like hell. I don’t see a visa with Marisol’s name on it dropping from heaven.”

  “You talked this orthopedic specialist into the surgery, didn’t you?” When he merely sputtered and slapped on his sunglasses, she grinned. “I rest my case.”

  As soon as they neared the picnic tables, crowded with families and laden with food, Stan marched up and pumped Cole’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your handling that … situation last night,” he said, his usually genial expression overlaid with distress.

  “Glad I could help.”

  “I don’t know what the world’s coming to,” continued the resort owner. “You try to make a family resort like this safe for folks.”

  “And it is safe. Look at all these families here.”

  Stan shook his head. “And there’s the vandalism in the theater. Lucky you got your motorcycle out earlier. Looks like I’ll have to button up every building from now on.”

  “I’m sure it was just teenagers fooling around,” Laura put in. “An aberration. Still, locking up seems like a good idea.”

  “I hate to bring this up today, Stan,” Cole said, “the gas heater in Laura’s cabin still leaks. Does Burt know what he’s doing?”

  Stan ran his fingers through his wispy hair. His morose expression exaggerated his horsy features. “That blasted kid. Too much of a slacker. I don’t care if he is Jake’s nephew. I’ll send him to tackle it again. They say bad luck comes in threes. Lord knows what can happen next.” Waving his arms in frustration, he hurried off toward the children’s contests.

  “Mr. Stratton, Mr. Stratton, you gotta help me.” Zach dashed up to Cole, nearly barreling into him in his haste.

  Chapter 23

  “HEY, BUDDY, WHAT’S up?” Cole frowned. “Not another suspicious character, I hope.”

  “No way.” The boy danced a step back, steadying himself. “The three-legged race is about to start. Butch and his dad are ready to go. I wanna beat them, but my dad’s not here. The prize is a watermelon — a whole watermelon!”

  Cole leaned down, his hands planted on his knees. “And you need a partner. I’m your man, Zach.” He glanced around and gave a barely perceptible nod to Vanessa.

  “Suh-weet.” Latching on to Cole’s arm, the boy tugged him toward the racecourse beyond the picnic tables.

  Laura’s heart melted. She waved off Cole and quickly lost sight of the two in the milling throng of shorts-clad people.

  Vanessa came to her side. “After my screw-up last night, I’m surprised he trusts me near you.” The redhead carried a platter of fresh vegetables cut in curlicues and arranged in decorative swirls.

  Laura helped herself to a carrot curl. “We both know none of last night’s disaster was your fault.”

  “Thanks for that. Bu
t still...” On a shrug, Vanessa placed her burden on a table laden with traditional and gourmet fare. “Just look at this food. I feel like we’re here for a medieval feast.”

  “The groaning board for sure.” Laura smiled, glad to have her cheerful friend back instead of the stern government officer.

  Munching on a miniature quiche, Vanessa quipped, “Of course I diet only in leap years.”

  Laura laughed. “I thought this was going to be a simple cookout with chicken and potato salad.”

  “So Stan said, but I think Joyce is a frustrated banquet chef.” Vanessa took her arm as they strolled around the tables and toward the barbecue grills.

  Laura wondered if the officer was back, herding her, to ensure more safety in the middle of the crowd.

  Clutches of adults lounged and chatted in folding chairs. Toddlers played hide-and-seek beneath the food tables, and older kids stuffed their faces with chips and nachos from the appetizer array.

  By the chips bowl, the Tolman twins and Kay clustered around a boy Laura hadn’t seen before. His surfer-blond hair suited the dazzling flowered shorts and water sandals he sported. At least this boy was closer to Kay’s age. And without Malibu Barbie mascara and hairdo, Kay looked fresh and sweet, as she should. Burt was nowhere in sight and hopefully out of the picture. Perhaps Laura’s too-much-too-soon chat with Kay’s parents made a dent.

  Bea Van Tassel waved long-handled tongs at them. “You two have to taste this chicken.” She licked her lips. The barbecue sauce’s shade, a tomato-y deep maroon, amazingly matched her lipstick and her peasant dress.

  The two grills were metal barrels sliced in half lengthwise and fitted with legs. Several dozen chicken pieces brushed with spicy sauce simmered over glowing briquettes.

  Rudy Damon joined them. An elegantly tied royal-blue cravat — who but Rudy wore a cravat? — bloomed from the opening of his silk shirt. “Okay, Miss V., I’m here to relieve you.”

  Bea untied her apron and handed it over. “About time,” she sniffed. “I’m supposed to be helping with the desserts.”