Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She wiggled free, escaping his arms. He sat up, as if to follow her, but stopped suddenly. She turned to look at him, and saw the expression on his face as he realized what they’d been doing—what they’d been about to do.

  “Oh, damn,” he said. “Emily, God, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t intend to—”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s…all right. It wasn’t your fault—I mean, it was my fault, too. I think talking about that night you were shot made it easy for us to…kind of…slip back into our old relationship. It was easy to pretend that we’re still lovers.” She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. “But we’re not.”

  “Em,” Jim said.

  She looked up at him. He was watching her intently. His lean face looked mysterious, and hauntingly handsome, in the shadows. He didn’t smile as she met his eyes.

  “We could be,” he said softly, seriously.

  Lovers. He was talking about them being lovers.

  Emily swallowed, remembering his taste, his touch…

  “No.” She shook her head. “We couldn’t.” She turned away from him. “I need you to leave.”

  He left.

  WEDNESDAY, the phone rang only once. It was Felipe Salazar, calling to say that Delmore’s odd business meeting on Tuesday night had been exactly what it appeared to be—a late-night meeting with a client. Nothing illegal had transpired.

  Thursday, the phone rang twice, but neither time was it Alexander Delmore.

  By Friday, Jim had had enough. He wasn’t sleeping worth a damn, not with Emily in the other room. She was well within reach—or she would have been, if his hands hadn’t been tied behind his back. He wanted her so badly he could barely remember his name, but every time he so much as said two words to her, she jumped a mile high, then thought up some phony excuse to get away from him. Time to do the laundry. Time to get groceries. Time to wash the deck furniture. Wash the deck furniture, for crying out loud…

  Something had to happen soon, or he’d lose his mind.

  At ten o’clock, he went out onto the deck, where Emily was repotting several of her houseplants. She only glanced up at him, but it was long enough for him to feel the now-familiar jolt of awareness. Still, she seemed determined to ignore the powerful chemistry between them.

  “Can you be ready to go out in about an hour?” he asked. She was wearing a faded old pair of cutoff jeans that had ripped several inches up the outside seam of her right leg. The effect was outrageously sexy—and all the more so because she seemed so oblivious to it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, moving some kind of plant with lots of long, green-leafed vines into a larger pot. She packed potting soil loosely on top of its roots.

  Her hands were covered with dark brown dirt, and she used the back of her arm to push her hair out of her face as she looked up at him, waiting for him to answer.

  “Your ‘brother’ is going to take you someplace nice for lunch,” Jim said. He smiled. “And—what a coincidence—it’ll just happen to be the same restaurant where Delmore’s having lunch. You’ll introduce him to me, I’ll get us invited out on his boat.”

  Emily raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Alex never goes to the same place twice in a row,” she said. “And sometimes he doesn’t decide where he’s going until he’s halfway there. There are about seventeen restaurants that he really likes. So we’ve got a one-in-seventeen chance of guessing where he’s going. And that’s assuming he doesn’t try someplace new.”

  Jim shook his head. “We aren’t going to do any guessing,” he said. “We’re going to be dressed and ready and sitting in a car downtown near Delmore’s boat slip. Phil Salazar is going to follow Delmore to wherever he’s having lunch, then call and tell us where to go.”

  “Then we walk in, sit down and pretend we’re surprised to see Alex, right?” Emily laughed, her eyes flashing with amusement. “Nothing like having the police force on your side when you want to get a date.” She rinsed her hands in a bucket of water, then dried them on a rag. “I need to take a shower, but I can be ready to go in about a half hour.”

  She opened the sliding glass door, but paused on the threshold, turning back to look at him. “Some of the places Alex likes to go for lunch require a jacket and tie. Do you have something to wear?”

  Jim smiled. “I’ve got that under control.”

  Emily nodded. Under control. At least something here was under control.

  “I’M READY.”

  Emily came out into the living room wearing a white denim skirt and a pale blue T-shirt and carrying a white sweater over her arm. The skirt went down to midcalf, and she wore flat leather sandals on her feet.

  Jim shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said.

  “Sure I am,” Emily said. “I even have a sweater in case the air-conditioning is up too high.”

  Jim went down the hall toward Emily’s bedroom. “You look like a high school English teacher.”

  “I am a high school English teacher,” Emily said, bristling slightly, as she followed him into her room.

  “Right,” Jim said, opening her closet door. “But today you’ve got to remind Delmore that you’re also an incredible-looking babe.”

  Emily rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve got to wear something more along the lines of that blue dress.” He looked quickly through the clothes hanging in her closet and pulled out a long, flowing skirt with a bold floral print. “This is good,” he said, tossing it onto the bed.

  Emily crossed her arms. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you pick out my clothes,” she said. She looked at him pointedly. “Wearing that tie with that jacket isn’t exactly going to get you on St. Simone’s list of the best-dressed men of the year.”

  “My tie doesn’t match?” he said, looking at himself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. He was wearing dark blue pants with a light, grayish-blue tweed sport jacket. His tie was a dull mix of drab green and yellow. He shrugged and pulled three other ties from the pockets of his sport jacket. “I hate these things. You pick, okay?”

  Emily glanced at them. “The blue is the least awful,” she said.

  Jim laughed. “The least awful wins.” He put the other ties back in his pockets.

  Emily watched him as he took off the green tie and put on the blue. She was wrong. Jim Keegan would make anyone’s best-dressed list—provided “anyone” was a woman. Jim could wear damn near anything, and still be better-looking than most of the rest of the male population.

  His pants fit him sinfully well, hugging his long legs and stacking neatly around his boots. His jacket might well have been tailor-made for his broad shoulders. And the way he wore his tie with the top button of his shirt unfastened was charming, rather than sloppy.

  He looked into the mirror to adjust the tie and caught her watching him.

  The last time he had been in her room, he’d kissed her. Jim knew she was thinking about it, too—how could she not be? She’d spent most of the past few days avoiding any possibility of a repeat encounter. Yet here he was. Back at the scene of the crime.

  As Jim watched, she smiled briefly at him and looked away, moving toward the bed and the skirt he’d thrown there. Okay, so she was going to play it cool. They’d come pretty damn close to making love right here on her bed a few nights ago, but she wanted to pretend it had never happened. It was not to be mentioned, not to be discussed. But, damn it, he wanted to discuss it.

  “Emily—”

  She knew what he was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear it. She picked up the skirt and held it up to her waist, gesturing to indicate the blue T-shirt she was wearing. “Do you want me to wear this shirt with this skirt?”

  As she met his steady gaze, she clenched the skirt’s hanger tighter.

  “Emily, I really think we should talk—”

  “What’s to talk about?” she said swiftly. Jim could hear a trace of desperation in her voice. “Either you want me to wear this shirt or you don’
t. A simple yes or no will do.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  As he watched, Emily took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. When she spoke, her voice was even. “Look, just tell me what to wear so that we can get this investigation over with.”

  “And me out of your house,” Jim added flatly.

  “Yes.”

  It couldn’t get much clearer than that, could it? But what was he expecting? Did he really think that they could sit down, have a quick heart-to-heart, and become lovers again? Because that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted back into her bed.

  Except if it was just a physical thing, if it was mere lust, he’d be able to control it. The way he’d felt the other night had been beyond control—way beyond control.

  “What do you want me to wear?” she asked again.

  Jim made himself focus on the skirt.

  The floral print was a mix of blue, black and off-white. Jim shook his head. “Don’t wear a T-shirt,” he said. “You got one of those—What are they called? You know, it ties at the back of your neck and behind your back, at your waist?”

  “A halter top?” Emily said.

  “Yeah.” Jim nodded. “Something like that. Something you’d never wear to teach a class.”

  “I don’t have anything like that.”

  “I’d bet Carly does,” he said, glancing at his watch. “If we’re lucky, she hasn’t left for work yet.”

  “Oh, have you memorized Carly’s work schedule?” Emily said, with a sudden flash of something that couldn’t be jealousy. It didn’t make sense for her to feel jealous.

  She followed Jim out into the living room and watched him open the front door.

  “She told me she works at the library afternoons and evenings,” he said evenly. “Right now, it’s still morning. Maybe she’s home.”

  He was gone only a few minutes, and when he returned he was triumphantly waving something that looked an awful lot like a tiny black silk scarf.

  “We’re in luck,” he said, handing it to Emily. “Carly had just what I was picturing.”

  “You want me to wear this?” Emily held the black silk up, and the sunlight streaming through the sliding glass doors made it seem almost translucent. “With nothing underneath?”

  “Yeah. It’ll look amazing with that skirt.”

  “Amazing,” Emily echoed, nodding her head. “Right.” She looked up at Jim. “Why bother wearing anything at all?” she said tartly. “Why don’t I just go naked?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, giving her a long, appraising look. “That would be okay with me, too.”

  She held the halter top out to him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He didn’t take it. “I thought you wanted to get this investigation over with.” She didn’t move. “At least try it on,” he said, more gently.

  Emily turned and went back into the bedroom to change.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT ONE-FIFTEEN, Jim’s cellular phone chirped, and he flipped it open.

  “Yeah.” He held Emily’s gaze as he listened to Felipe Salazar report which restaurant Delmore had gone to for lunch. “The Stone Wharf.” He gave Emily a questioning look.

  “I know where that is,” she said with a nod. “I’ve been there with Alex several times. It’s near those new condos, about three miles from here. It’s part of that new development of expensive stores called the Quay.”

  Jim nodded, taking his sunglasses from his pocket. “Thanks, Phil,” he said into the phone. “We’re on our way.”

  He clicked off the telephone and put Emily’s car into gear. They’d been sitting in it, with the motor running and the air-conditioning on full, for ages.

  “About time,” he said. “I’m starving. I was beginning to think Delmore was never going to eat lunch.”

  Emily looked over at him, startled. “We’re not really going to eat there, are we?”

  “We can’t go in, sit down and only order a glass of water while we wait for Delmore to notice us,” Jim said. “That would look a little suspicious, you know?”

  “The Stone Wharf is really expensive,” Emily said, gazing out the window at the posh hotels and high-class condos that lined the streets in this part of town. “Lunch for the two of us could easily cost eighty dollars. I can’t afford that.”

  “It’s covered by my expense account,” Jim said. “You won’t have to pay. You know, don’t go crazy and order champagne or caviar or anything outrageous. But don’t worry about getting stuck with the bill.”

  Emily nodded. “Thanks.” She pointed out the window. “It’s your next right. See the sign for the Quay?”

  “I’ve driven past this place,” Jim said, signaling to make a right turn into the upscale mall’s driveway, “but I’ve never gone in. So far they’ve had no crimes committed on the premises, and as far as the restaurants go, an eighty-buck lunch date is a little out of my league.”

  Emily was silent as he found an empty space and parked the car. He turned off the motor and the air-conditioning, and the sudden lack of noise was deafening. But she didn’t seem to notice. She stared out the front windshield, her eyes unfocused.

  “Hey,” Jim said, and she turned and looked at him. “You ready to go in?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said coolly, “considering that I feel half-naked wearing this ridiculous excuse for a top.”

  Jim’s gaze dropped to the whisper-thin silk that covered Emily’s full breasts. It was true—the halter top didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. But it wasn’t as blatantly revealing as she feared. The fabric was gathered, sort of like two large triangles of silk that were bunched together and attached to a wide band that went below her breasts and tied in the back. Sure, when she moved a certain way and the weight of her breasts strained against the silk, her nipples were clearly outlined. But that happened only infrequently—just enough for Jim to wish it would happen a little more often.

  “You look great,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual, so he cleared his throat. “You’re really gonna turn heads when you walk into this place. You look sexy, but in a real classy way, you know?”

  “And you’re an expert on classy, right?” Emily said, suddenly wanting to lash out at him. His words, his voice, the soft look in his eyes, it suddenly all seemed too intimate, too personal. She didn’t want him to look at her that way. She didn’t want to care whether or not he thought she was sexy. She wanted to dislike him. Forget dislike—she wanted to hate him. At the very least, she wanted him to hate her. Either way, she wished he would stop being so damned kind all the time. “And how do you know whether or not I’m going to ‘turn heads’? You’ve never been to this restaurant before. It’s out of your league, right?”

  Jim got quiet, very, very quiet, as he studied the front of the restaurant out the windshield of the car. But when he turned to look at Emily, she could see the flare of emotion in his eyes. She saw anger—and something else. She looked away quickly, praying that what she’d just seen in his eyes wasn’t hurt.

  “Just because I don’t earn my money running illegal drugs,” Jim said tightly, “just because I choose not to spend an amount that would feed an entire family of six for an entire week on one lousy meal, doesn’t mean I don’t know class when I see it. I don’t pretend to have any class—I never have—but I’ll tell you one thing I know for a fact, Emily. I’ve got a hell of a lot more of it than your boyfriend in there.”

  He got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

  Emily couldn’t breathe. She’d gotten him mad at her, all right, but she couldn’t blame him for it at all. And he was right, he did have more class than Alex Delmore.

  She got out of the car and closed the door behind her.

  Jim was already halfway across the parking lot. Good. Let him go. She wanted him to be angry with her. She wanted him to hate her, remember?

  Despite her intentions, she found herself running across the hot bl
acktop, chasing after him. “Jim!”

  Jim stopped in his tracks. Damn it, every time she called him by his given name, his heart nearly stopped beating. It was as if he thought maybe this time she was ready to admit that the chemistry between them was undeniable. Of course, that was extremely unlikely right now, considering he’d just let her have a full dose of his notoriously hot temper. Still, he turned around to wait for her to catch up.

  And then his heart nearly did stop beating. Emily was running. Toward him. Wearing that flimsy top. But what made him stand glued to the spot was the look in her eyes. She was scared. Unless he was reading her wrong, something had her really scared.

  “Number one,” he said gently when she reached him, “when we’re out in public, you have to call me Dan. I’m your brother, remember? Don’t forget it.”

  Emily nodded, out of breath.

  “Number two,” he deadpanned, “don’t run in that halter top. This is Florida, remember? There’re a lot of old guys around. You’ll give ’em all heart attacks. I don’t want to have to run you in for manslaughter.”

  That got a smile out of her. It was a rueful smile, but it was a smile just the same. “You’d be an accessory. It was your idea for me to wear this, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, walking backward toward the restaurant door, still watching her. “Come on. Let’s go in there and wow Delmore, get invited onto his boat for a weekend cruise, and then have a great lunch, okay?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat,” Emily confessed.

  “Sure you will,” Jim said. His smile disappeared. “I’ll be there with you, Em, the whole time. You’re safe. You hear what I’m saying?”

  He was dead serious, and Emily nodded slowly.

  She was safe from Alex Delmore. But she didn’t feel safe from Jim Keegan—because despite everything, even despite their wretched history, she was actually starting to like the man.

  EMILY SAT BACK in her chair and calmly looked out at the magnificent view of the glistening Gulf waters. As she leaned forward to lift her ginger ale and take a sip, she looked at Jim.