CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  * * *

  Three days later Luke and Maggie fixed dinner together in his kitchen. He browned hamburger meat for the tacos, and she diced tomatoes and onions, her eyes watering from the latter.

  Luke would never forgive himself for getting drunk the other night. He had no right to do that while Maggie was still in his care. His inebriated state could have put her in danger. What if Rocky Palermo had shown up? How effective would Luke have been against the hit man?

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  She blinked through the onion-tears. "For what?"

  He resisted the urge to dab her eyes. "For the crummy date the other night."

  "Oh, Luke. How many times are you going to apologize for that? You deserved to let off a little steam."

  Not if it meant putting her in danger, he thought. "I won't do it again. I won't put you in a position to look after me."

  "You're making too much of it. All I did was drive you home. You managed to get yourself to bed."

  Where he'd conked out soon enough. "I'm still sorry."

  "No problem." She scooped the onions into a bowl. "Do you want to hear about what happened with your mom?"

  "Yes. Please." He turned the burner down a notch. Chili spices rose in the air, filling the kitchen with a south-of-the-border flair. Maggie had taken his mom to the doctor earlier that day. He hadn't pressed her for details, but he was hoping she would supply a few.

  Maggie went to the refrigerator and removed a head of lettuce. "The doctor gave Dana a prescription for an antidepressant. He explained that some antidepressants are effective in controlling anxiety disorders. The key is finding the right one for her."

  "So it's a hit-and-miss kind of thing?"

  Still holding the lettuce, she leaned against the sink. "More or less. But he also recommended group therapy. She needs to interact with others who are going through the same thing." Maggie sighed. "You wouldn't believe how many people are afflicted with social phobias. Housewives, executives, movie stars. Some people, like your mom, become housebound, while others appear to function normally when they're actually panicking inside."

  Luke nodded. He knew his mom had faked her way through it at first, hiding her fears from him. "What a hell of a way to live."

  "Dana is bound and determined to get through this, to do whatever she can to face the world again. And she knows it's not going to be easy. She's not expecting miracles. The toughest part for her will be going places alone. She's relied on you and Nell for so long—"

  "I enabled her, didn't I?" he cut in, his stomach clenching.

  Maggie met his gaze. "She needed you, and you were there for her. That's not enabling someone. That's loving them." She blinked, her eyes still watery. "You did the only thing you knew how to do, Luke. You protected her."

  "But it wasn't enough. I didn't insist that she get help."

  "You can't force someone to get help. They have to be willing. And in spite of group therapy and medication, your mom still might suffer from this disorder. There's no guarantee that all of her fears will go away."

  But at least now she has a chance, he thought. Because of Maggie – a twenty-two-year-old girl with a heart the size of Texas. He stepped forward. "Thank you for caring."

  She set the lettuce down and reached for him. He took her in his arms and guided her head to his shoulder. She felt soft and warm. He stroked her hair and let himself enjoy the luxury of holding her.

  Maggie looked up at him, and Luke's pulse tripped. She didn't fancy herself in love with him, did she? She was still young enough to confuse lust with love, still rebellious enough to want a man who was no good for her.

  Suddenly the marriage dare didn't seem like a game. Did it matter? he asked himself. This wouldn't last, not for either one of them. He was too old and set in his ways to get wrapped up in a woman, and she was too young and free to saddle herself with a hard-boiled P.I. forever. She would get over him in no time.

  Stepping back, he released her, grateful they hadn't given in to the urge to sleep together. That, he decided, would complicate things, forming a physical attachment they didn't need.

  He turned to stir the meat, giving himself something to do. He would win the dare and that would be the end of it. Midnight on New Year's Eve would come soon enough.

  She might be a rich, impulsive Cinderella, but he sure as hell wasn't Prince Charming.

  "Do you want me to grate the cheese?" he asked, trying to slip into a casual, meaningless conversation.

  "We bought the kind that's already grated."

  "Oh, that's right. I forgot." He wasn't used to shopping with someone else or spending so much time with a woman. "I'll set the table." He grabbed the plates and silverware and carried them into the dining room.

  Standing in front of the window, he gazed out. Dusk settled in the sky. Rain drizzled on and off, leaving moisture in the air. The neighbor's roof twinkled with strings of holiday lights. Luke turned to glance at his tree, then saw Maggie standing behind him, placing a tray of taco fixings on the table.

  "It's beautiful," she said.

  He knew she meant his Christmas tree. "Thanks." He'd decorated it with leather-wrapped feathers, hand-engraved silver conchas and strands of turquoise beads. The Indian ornaments reminded him of who he was and where he'd come from. In spite of his urban lifestyle, he never wanted to forget that he had Cherokee blood running through his veins.

  "Do you ever go to the reservation to visit your father's family?" she asked.

  "Not as often as I would like." Because he had gotten so involved with the city, with the high-profile cases that absorbed his time. "My grandparents are gone, but I still have some distant relatives there." People he barely knew, he realized.

  "I'll bet the land is breathtaking."

  "It is," he responded, picturing the serenity of the Qualla Boundary. The rolling pastures, the high meadows, the winding streams. "It's the gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains. It's prettiest at dawn, when the sun shines through the mist."

  "I'd love to see it someday. I've never been to North Carolina." Maggie smiled, and he wondered why he felt lonely all of a sudden. Was he missing her already? The enchanting Cinderella he couldn't claim?

  A few minutes later Luke and Maggie sat down to dinner. Halfway through their meal the phone rang. He got up to answer it. And then his pulse jumped.

  The man on the other end of the line was one of his contacts in Altaria. Finally, they had a lead on the Connelly case.

  He hung up the phone and returned to the table. "I'm leaving for Altaria in the morning," he said. "The chief of security at the Rosemere Institute is on the verge of a breakdown. He's ready to crack."

  "And you're going to be there when he does."

  "Damn straight."

  Maggie met his gaze head-on. "I'm going with you."

  Her eyes, he noticed, flashed like emeralds. He knew there was no point in arguing, in insisting that she fly over next week with the rest of her family, who would be arriving for the coronation rehearsal. Maggie was determined to remain by his side, to help him solve the case. And that meant getting on a plane with him tomorrow.

  "Fine, but Bruno is coming along, too." Luke wasn't about to let Maggie accompany him without her bodyguard. Of course, that wasn't a problem. Altaria didn't quarantine dogs and cats from America, as long as the proper veterinary certificate was provided, and Bruno's medical records were in perfect order. "Just remember, when we get there, I'm in charge. Whatever I say goes."

  She agreed, and he reached for his water, promising himself he would do anything, absolutely anything, to keep her safe.

  * * *

  The jet was equipped with everything money could buy – a luxurious living room, a fully stocked bar, sleeping quarters adorned with silk sheets and downy pillows. Maggie sipped a glass of plum wine and nibbled on sushi. She was used to traveling in style, particularly when en route to Altaria. The remote island was only accessible by yacht or private jet as the airstrip was too small to
accommodate commercial flights.

  She glanced at Luke, who sat beside her on an Italian sofa. Studying his notes, he seemed unfazed by their luxurious surroundings. Then again, he was an experienced flyer and this was, in spite of its glamorous trappings, still a plane.

  Bruno yawned from a cozy corner, and Maggie smiled. They made a compatible trio.

  Luke looked up. "I hope the security chief has plenty to say. We need a break in this case."

  "Especially since one of our prime suspects just died," she said, thinking about Cyrus Koresh, the man who had owned the Altarian textile mill. "Are you sure we don't have anything linking Cyrus to the Kellys?"

  "Nothing but the fact that the CDs were smuggled in lace shipments from his mill. He didn't have a record or any known criminal activity, Of course, he was ambitious as hell."

  "He must have socialized with someone in the mob," she put in, reaching for a vegetable roll.

  "He belonged to the same country club as Gregor Paulus. It could be a coincidence. Plenty of prestigious Altarians belong to the club, but my gut tells me that Paulus is the one who brought Cyrus into this mess." Luke stretched his legs. "You know what the ironic part is? Cyrus's wife died from cancer."

  "Really? Then why would Cyrus agree to smuggle a cancer virus onto the black market?"

  "I don't think he knew what was on those CDs. Someone offered him a chance to make some cold hard cash, and he took it."

  "And now he's dead."

  Luke nodded. "He already had a weak heart, and the stress from the smuggling scheme probably did him in. Whoever else is involved in this must have told him that your brother Rafe discovered what was going on."

  "Which meant Cyrus would be under suspicion."

  "Exactly."

  "The Royal Guard don't know about the cancer virus, do they?" she asked.

  "No. They're aware that files were stolen from the Institute, but they don't know those files contained a potential biohazard. The king thought it was best to keep quiet about that. He didn't want to create a state of panic. We can't afford any leaks."

  And with good reason, Maggie thought. They weren't just going after the mob; they were trying to save the world from biological warfare. "What do you think the bad guys are doing?"

  "Besides dying from heart attacks? Lying low, I would imagine. Or falling apart like the security chief at the Institute."

  "I'm still worried about Daniel," she said, recalling the assassination attempt that had been made on his life.

  "The king is being protected by the Royal Guard."

  "I know." She finished her wine, then managed a reminiscent smile. "It still seems strange to think of Daniel as a king." She remembered her oldest brother as an all-American teenager, slipping past the Connelly cook to swipe a drink from the milk carton, and now he was ruling a nation, a devoted wife by his side.

  "You're the one I worry about," Luke said as he placed his notes back into a leather briefcase. "It's dangerous for you to be working with me, Maggie."

  "I'll be fine." She had two protectors – a big, burly dog and a former Special Forces soldier. "How long were you in the military?" she asked, envisioning Luke as a young, passionate warrior.

  "Ten years."

  "Did you enlist when you were eighteen?"

  "Yes. I thought about going into law enforcement when my tour ended, but I changed my mind."

  She sensed he had become a P.I. so he could investigate unsolved crimes, helping families who needed closure. And somewhere along the way, his skills had led him to high-profile cases.

  "We've got a long day ahead of us, Maggie. You should try to get some rest."

  "I am sleepy." From the wine, she suspected. She glanced at the bedroom compartments, but decided to nap right where she was. Reclining on the couch, she put her head on Luke's lap and gazed up at him.

  With a gentle caress, he stroked her cheek. She imagined unbuttoning his shirt and sliding her hands all over that massive chest.

  He toyed with her hair, and a heated shiver slid down her spine.

  "Close your eyes," he whispered.

  Dreamy, Maggie snuggled against his body. But when she turned her head to get more comfortable, she heard Luke suck in a rough breath.

  The side of her face was nestled against his fly, and suddenly he was aroused.

  That makes two of us, she thought as she drifted into a sweet, sensual sleep.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  Dunemere, the Rosemere family's beach house, faced a rugged coastline. Luke and Maggie stood on a balcony and watched the ocean rise into foaming waves. He thought about the mermaids Maggie had painted and decided that if the sea creatures existed, they would choose to frolic in Altarian waters.

  The island, with its sparkling white sand, swaying palm trees and jagged mountains, was indeed a sight to behold.

  "I better get ready." Luke turned and entered a suite decorated in chintz, warm woods and mellow pastels. Maggie's suite connected to his, an unlocked door the only barrier that separated them at night.

  Moonlit nights, he thought, lulled by the sea.

  Maggie sat on the edge of his bed, and he cast her a curious look. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Nothing," she responded a little too innocently.

  Luke knew damn well she was waiting around to see if he'd strip in front of her. He removed a dark suit from the closet and hung it on a wooden valet. "Scram, little girl." He shooed her away with a dramatic gesture. "Go raid the cookie jar or something."

  "Very funny, old man."

  They both laughed, and for the first time since they'd met, their age difference seemed almost insignificant.

  Almost, he reminded himself. Seventeen years was nothing to scoff at.

  She rose, came toward him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed him smartly on the mouth. "Good luck with the security chief," she said.

  "Thanks." It took every ounce of willpower he owned not to toss her onto the bed and ravish the hell out of her. She wore a filmy dress that flowed around her like a sheer curtain. He assumed she had some sort of flesh-colored bodysuit on beneath it. The naked illusion was enough to drive him mad.

  He watched her walk to the door that divided their rooms. And once she was gone, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

  Less than an hour later Luke was seated across from Rowan Neville, the security chief at the Rosemere Institute. The office was clean and organized, with a large desk and metal file cabinets. Nothing appeared to be amiss, nothing but the man himself.

  Neville smoked nervously, lighting one cigarette after another. His graying blond hair framed a ruddy, wind-burned face. His tie was so tight, he looked as if he might choke.

  Luke eyed him from across the desk. He had been informed that Neville quit smoking twenty years ago. Yet here he was, employed at a cancer-research facility and putting himself at risk for the disease.

  Luke presented a document with the royal crest. "The king sent me here to discuss the Genome Project with you," he said, referring to the name of the research that had accidentally created a virus.

  Neville flinched, then took another drag, inhaling as if his life depended on tobacco, tar and nicotine. "The scientists would know about that. You can speak to them."

  "The king wanted me to talk to you. He's had someone watching you, Rowan, and he's curious about your odd behavior." Luke sat back in his chair, creaking the leather. He studied the other man, keeping his expression blank. "You've rushed out of the office early every day this week. Why the hurry to get out of here?"

  "I needed to get home to my family."

  "Why?"

  After Neville stamped out the cigarette butt, he fidgeted with the empty pack, clearly craving another. "Because last Saturday I saw the man who threatened to kill them."

  Luke's heart leaped to his throat, but he didn't move a muscle. "What man?" he asked.

  "The one with the scar." Neville touched his neck, drawing with his fing
er the scar by which Rocky Palermo was known. "He forced me to do what I did. They needed me, you see. I helped design the security system, and I was able to alter it. No one has clearance to enter the lab at night, not even the scientists."

  Luke finally moved, leaning toward the desk. "But you rigged it so someone could get into the lab?"

  "Yes. There were two men. One kept me at gunpoint, and the other worked in the computer room. This happened on ten different occasions. The archived data they were after wasn't stored in the same computer. They had to keep coming back, checking different files."

  "Give me a description of them," Luke said. "Every detail."

  "I can't. They always wore ski masks. I never saw their faces."

  "But you saw the man with the scar?"

  "Yes, but only a few times last year when all of this first started. He wasn't one of the masked men."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "Because he was wider than they were. Broader in the shoulders."

  Luke scrubbed his hand across his jaw. Either Rowan Neville was a skilled liar, covering his tracks by pointing the finger elsewhere, or he was truly running scared, fearing for his family's safety. "But you saw the scarred man last Saturday?"

  He nodded. "At the pier. I was with my children." Pausing, Neville took a breath. "He had a mustache and longer hair, and he wore a turtleneck sweater, so I couldn't see the scar. But the way he was built, the way he walked, I knew it was him." The security chief frowned. "I know it sounds crazy that I recognized a man who didn't look the same, but he threatened my children. That's something a father doesn't forget."

  It didn't sound crazy, Luke thought. Rocky often appeared in disguise, but his muscles and cocky stance were hard to miss. Then again, Neville was in a panicked state. He could have mistaken another bodybuilder-type for the hit man. "Did he see you?"

  "Yes, but I turned away quickly. He didn't follow me. He was with another man. They were talking quietly."

  Luke showed Neville some photographs. The security chief identified Rocky Palermo instantly, but when Luke presented a picture of Gregor Paulus, Neville studied it for a while. "This could be the other man who was at the pier. He was tall and thin like this, but he wore a hooded jacket and dark glasses. It looks like him, but I can't be sure."