by Linda Turner
After the guard's second trip, Grant whispered, "We're not going to be able to check the offices tonight—it's too risky. We can get in the refinery, though, when he's out of sight at the back of the main building. He'll never see us."
He made it sound so easy. She swallowed the sudden crazy urge to laugh and nodded. Now all they had to do was wait. She willed herself to relax. She knew they were well hidden by the tree that surrounded them, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were sitting ducks to anyone who cared to look closely. Every time the wind rustled the leaves on the tree, the nerves in her stomach coiled tighter. When the guard finally stepped from the refinery, she almost wilted in relief. Anything was better than sitting there waiting to be discovered.
The guard rattled the front doors of the main office, then disappeared around the back. A heartbeat later, Grant grabbed one of the tree limbs and soundlessly dropped into the compound. Her heart slamming against her ribs, Katie clung to a branch, her feet dangling three feet off the ground before Grant's hands closed around her waist and eased her down. She gave him a shaky smile, and then they both crouched low and sprinted across the yard.
It seemed to take an eon to cross the compound. Unconsciously, they waited for a shout, signaling they'd been caught. But all they heard was the thundering of their own hearts. Short of breath, dizzy with relief, they darted inside the refinery.
Katie took one look at the immense structure and stopped dead in her tracks, dismayed. It was a huge building, latticed with pipes running in every direction, and far larger than it looked from the outside. Neither one of them knew a thing about sugar refineries. Where would they even begin to search?
"We haven't got much time," Grant reminded her. "Fifteen minutes at the most. This afternoon I noticed that the loading dock's on the west side. Let's start looking there. Since the cocaine is taken out in the trucks, it's got to be hidden around there somewhere." They took off at a dead run, darting in and out among stainless steel tanks and vats and evaporators. A wrong turn turned into a dead end. Cursing at the loss of precious time, they retraced their steps. Five minutes later, they stumbled across the loading dock.
Sugar was everywhere. Twenty-five-pound sacks of brown and white and powdered sugar piled in high stacks. Its sweetness cloyed the air.
At each end of the dock, there was a storage room. Ignoring the sacks piled all around them, Grant motioned for Katie to search the room on the left while he took the one on the right. He'd barely stuck his head in what turned out to be the dock foreman's office, when Katie's soft call brought him running back to her.
"It's locked," she explained excitedly. "This has got to be it! They're bound to keep millions of dollars worth of cocaine under lock and key. Now we've just got to find a way to get in there."
Grant pulled a small gadget out of his pocket and held it up to her, his grin wicked. "This ought to do it," he drawled, and quickly inserted it in the lock. With a simple twist of his hand, he opened the door and they slipped inside.
The storeroom was windowless, the blackness that engulfed it complete. The small flashlight Katie hastily switched on hardly made a dent in the darkness, but it was enough for them to see the sacks of sugar piled high around them. Katie started to swear in disappointment when she suddenly noticed the words Extra Fine stamped on the sacks. The sugar stored on the loading dock hadn't carried that distinction.
Grant, too, had noticed the difference. "Let's just see how extra fine it is," he said in a low voice, and made a small cut in one of the sacks with his pocketknife. White powder spilled out. Reaching out to catch some, he tasted it with the tip of his tongue. His eyes hardened with satisfaction. "Bingo!" he whispered.
Katie wanted to laugh, to shout, to savor the moment to the fullest. Finally, they were on to something! But there wasn't time. The guard would be back soon. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she brought out the camera that was no bigger than her palm. Handing Grant the flashlight, she quickly began taking pictures.
"Just wait till this hits the front page," she laughed, snapping another picture.
He looked pointedly at the small flashlight that was her only source of light and snorted. "They'll never come out."
She thought of the high speed film she'd had the foresight to purchase and grinned. "I wouldn't bet on that if I were you. How much time we got?"
"Two minutes."
That was cutting it close. Too close. Grant turned off the flashlight, and they quickly slipped out of the storeroom and closed the door behind them. They silently rushed through the refinery, knowing this time they couldn't afford to make a wrong turn. They were almost at the guard's entrance when Grant looked up and caught a glimpse of the man's shadow preceding him into the building. Grant swallowed a curse, grabbed Katie's arm, and abruptly pulled her behind a large aluminum vat. Startled, she almost gasped when she heard the ring of the guard's footsteps. It sounded as though he was heading right for their hiding place! She paled, her gaze flying to Grant's, panic squeezing her throat. He shook his head imperceptibly, silently cautioning her to silence, to absolute stillness. In the darkness, his fingers closed reassuringly around hers.
The guard drew closer, the heavy tread of his steps echoing hollowly, warningly. Her heart galloping wildly in her chest, Katie shrank back against the cool metal of the vat, her fingers tightly lacing Grant's. Holding her breath, she waited to be discovered.
But the guard walked past the vat without checking his pace, the beam from his flashlight lazily bouncing with every step he took. Seconds later, darkness descended again as he disappeared among the pipes.
Grant waited for an instant longer, listening to make sure the man wasn't returning as unexpectedly as he'd arrived. Only silence echoed from the shadows. He heaved a sigh of relief. "That was too close," he muttered under his breath. "Let's get out of here while we can."
They burst out into the night as if they'd just escaped from prison and headed for the tree against the wall at a dead run. Grant pushed Katie up to the top of the wall, then quickly followed. Panting, they dropped to the other side and sprinted for the car.
Ten minutes later they ran into Katie's living room as if the hounds of hell were after them. Slamming the door, they leaned back against it, breathless, their shoulders rubbing, and burst into laughter as their eyes met.
"God, we did it!"
"I thought we were goners when that guard returned."
"Can you believe it? We found the coke!"
"We're going to crack this thing, I can feel it in my bones!"
They spoke together, too exhilarated to notice how close their faces were, how their bodies gravitated toward each other. As naturally as if he'd been doing it for years, Grant turned her into his arms and brought his mouth down to hers.
There was no thought of resisting, no questioning of what felt so right. It was a night for madness. Their breaths mingled, tongues played, and excitement turned to delight. The sweet scent of sugar clung to both of them, tempting them to taste, to enjoy. Kiss followed kiss, each growing more languid, hotter, sweeter.
Katie wanted to drown in the heat of him, and just barely remembered that they were in the living room, not some dark, quiet place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Struggling up from the depths of desire that clouded her mind, she murmured, "Ryan … he'll be home…" She clutched at Grant, gasping as he gently nipped her ear. "Any … any minute."
But Grant crushed her to him, lost to everything but the need to satisfy the ache that burned him from the inside out. "He probably went to bed hours ago," he growled, and smothered her protests with a savage kiss.
She melted, reason threatening to desert her altogether as she desperately pointed out, "His car isn't in the driveway."
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the phone rang. It was past two in the morning. There wasn't any question of answering it. The only calls she got at that time of night were informants or trouble.
She pulled Grant with her to the phone. While
still in his arms she lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
"Katie! Thank God!" Ryan choked out. "I've been trying for hours. I'm … I'm in jail!"
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Chaos. It was the only word that could even begin to describe the police station. A drunk struggled clumsily, caught tight in the hold of the burly cop who dragged him inside, loudly claiming that he was as sober as a judge. A furious woman lunged at her husband, shouting in Spanish, while two officers tried to keep them apart. On a bench that was pushed up against a wall, four prostitutes lounged in various stages of undress, waiting to be booked—again. The desk sergeant glanced at the clock and sighed. Three o'clock. Four more hours and he could go home.
He didn't even blink an eye at the pale, frazzled brunette who came rushing in with a dark, solemn man following right on her heels. "Yes, ma'am?"
Katie gripped the edge of the desk with trembling fingers. She didn't recognize this officer, but she was well known at the police station. He would help her. "I just got a call from my brother that he'd been arrested. Ryan MacDonald, Jr."
The sergeant shuffled through the papers in front of him and grunted when he found what he was looking for. "Yeah. Possession of cocaine and resisting arrest. He's already been booked."
This couldn't be happening! Not to Ryan. "There must be some mistake," she said desperately. "My brother doesn't use drugs."
If he had a penny for every time he'd heard that, he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting behind this desk, the older man thought cynically. "Lady, I don't have anything to do with deciding who's guilty or innocent," he drawled indifferently. "Save it for the judge."
Katie's breath hissed through her teeth, her eyes flashing in outrage. "Why, you—"
"Katie!"
Grant's quiet warning made her cut off a blistering comment. Grant was right. She'd never get Ryan out of here without this man's cooperation, but that didn't stop her eyes from cutting him to shreds. She forced a smile that nearly cracked her face. "Maybe if you'd let me talk to my brother, we could get this straightened out. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."
She might as well have saved herself the effort. "Sorry," he said. "No dice. Unless you're his lawyer."
"Then I'll see someone else," she tossed back, seething. "Detective Larson. He'll clear up this mess."
"He's on vacation."
"Then Captain Roberts," she said impatiently. "He knew my father. He'll help me."
"Lady, Roberts couldn't help you if he knew your grandfather. He transferred to Houston last week. Why don't you just go home?" he said wearily. "If you think you can pull a few strings, come back tomorrow and give it your best shot. But tonight you're wasting your time and mine."
"Then we'll post bail and clear this up in the morning," Grant said quietly, cutting her off before she could tell the older man just exactly what she thought of his suggestion. "Ryan's not spending the night in jail."
The sergeant looked over her head to the man who stood behind her. Resisting the urge to squirm, the older man shook his head. "There's no judge around to set bail. The kid's stuck here until morning."
"No!" Katie gasped, horrified. She knew better than most just what kind of scum filled the jail. Just the thought of her clean-cut, straight-A brother locked up with drug dealers, rapists and murderers was too much to bear. Unconsciously she turned to Grant, clutching at his arm. "Grant … we've got to do something! We can't just leave him here till morning."
Grant saw that her eyes were dark with alarm. Her fingers dug into his arm and her control was obviously hanging by a thread. If she had to walk out of here without Ryan, he knew she'd never forgive herself for her own helplessness. Protectiveness surged in him, surprising him with its strength. He'd never wanted to be any woman's white knight, never felt the need. But Katie MacDonald wasn't just any woman. She drew out emotions he never knew he had. Slipping his arm around her, he pulled her close to give her some of his strength. "Isn't one of your uncles a judge?" he reminded her. "Call him. He'll help you."
She blinked, clutching at the suggestion like a lifeline. "Yes, of course. Uncle Tony. I should have thought of him myself. He'll know what to do."
She glanced at the phone on the desk in front of her, but the sergeant only nodded to a row of phones just inside the station door. "The pay phones are over there."
Grant handed her a quarter, and within seconds she was punching out her uncle's number. But the phone rang five, ten, twenty times without anyone answering. With every ring, the muscles in Katie's stomach twisted. She slammed the receiver down. "He's not home," she said flatly, then quickly pulled the quarter from the coin return and dropped it back into the machine. "Uncle Mike's got almost as much clout as Uncle Tony. Maybe he can do something."
The phone had hardly started to ring when it was suddenly snatched up and a thick, rough voice Katie barely recognized as her uncle's growled in her ear. She sagged against the wall in relief, tears burning her eyes and throat. "Uncle Mike, thank God you're home!" she cried. "Ryan's in jail and I need you to help me get him out!"
"In jail?" he barked, his sleepy voice sharpening immediately. "Are you at the police station?"
"Yes."
"I'll be right there."
He was as good as his word. Less than fifteen minutes after he hung up, he strode into the station as if he'd just stepped out of a board meeting. His Italian suit was as neatly creased as it would be in the middle of the day instead of at that ungodly hour of the morning.
Katie took one look at his face lined with worry and her helplessness turned to resentment. She hated the desk sergeant for forcing her to bring her uncle in on this. Michael Gallegos was an old-fashioned man who believed it was his responsibility to shelter the women and children in the family from the harsh realities of life. Katie knew he would blame himself for this, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.
She rushed to his side and gave him a quick rundown on what happened all in the time it took to give him a hug. "A mistake's obviously been made, but the sergeant's not interested in correcting it," she said, shooting the policeman a killing look as she stepped out of her uncle's arms. "Uncle Mike, you know Ryan wouldn't do something like this."
"Of course he wouldn't," he said, patting her on the shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he suddenly noticed Grant standing just behind her. "Elliot, isn't it?" At Grant's nod, he said, "I'm glad you're here. She shouldn't go through this alone. And you," he growled, giving Katie a stern look, "you should have called me immediately. Sit down with your young man and let me see what I can do."
He was heading for the desk sergeant before the heat could even rise in Katie's cheeks. Was it only days ago that she and Grant had started the charade about an old romance? Only now it didn't seem like an act. How had it happened? What was it about this man that made his touch, his kiss, his presence in her life, seem so right?
"Are you all right?"
The question wrapped around her heart like a caress. She glanced up and gazed into his dark, probing eyes. Suddenly the answer to all her questions could be summed up in one word. Love. Dear God, she was falling in love with him!
Grant felt her stiffen, watched her eyes widen with distress, and stared at her in confusion. Was she going to fall apart now that the crisis was nearly over? He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, not questioning the need to hold her. "It's okay, Katie. Everything's going to be all right, Gallegos knows just about everybody in town. If he can't get Ryan out, nobody can."
Katie wanted to run, but how could she when her cheek was pressed against Grant's chest and she felt as if she'd come home? "No, it's not that…" she began, then almost choked on a hysterical laugh. What was she supposed to say now? I suddenly realized I'm falling in love with you and I don't even know your favorite color? Your middle name? Where you live?
What was she going to do?
As if he sensed her sudden panic, his arms tightened around her. "S
ee, what did I tell you? Here comes Ryan now."
She whirled in his arms, everything else pushed to the back of her mind at the sight of her brother. His clothes were as neat and clean as when he had left for work, not a strand of his black curly hair was out of place. But the boyish youthfulness of his lean face was etched with a grim somberness that hadn't been there hours before.
Blinking back tears, Katie murmured, "Oh, Grant, look at him. He looks like he's been through hell."
"He probably has," he said gruffly. "Come on, let's get him out of here."
Ryan reached for his sister the minute he saw her. His arms encircled her as if he would never let her go. "Katie, I didn't do anything!" he choked hoarsely. "I swear it!"
"I never thought you did," she said simply, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding."
"You can tell us about it in the car," Grant added. "I'm sure you're ready to go home."
Ryan nodded grimly. "I don't ever want to step foot in this place again." He turned to his uncle and stuck out his hand. "Thanks, Uncle Mike. I owe you one."
The older man solemnly shook hands, then pulled him close for a hug. "You don't owe me anything. Just go home and try not to worry about this. I'll get everything straightened out tomorrow."
Minutes later, they were in Grant's car, heading home. Katie turned sideways in the seat so that she could see Ryan's tall, lanky figure slumped in the back, his strength seemingly deserting him now that the ordeal was over. "What happened?" she demanded.
He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I was driving home after work, minding my own business, when a cop stopped me for a busted taillight."
