by Kylie Brant
“Michel seems quite taken with you.” Mannen flicked an amused glance toward Nick. “I noticed it the last time we met. How long have you known each other?”
Sara looked at Nick and drew an odd sort of strength from his rugged profile. “Nineteen days.” She was in familiar territory now. Nick had made her practice the story often enough. Caressingly, she stroked the hand he had resting on her hip. “I’ve never met anyone quite like him.”
“You have an impressive home.” Nick’s gaze roamed the area.
“Thank you. I do like my comfort.”
The space he deemed comfortable would easily have housed a dozen families. The lavish estate made Nick and Sara’s temporary quarters seem paltry by contrast. The rare and the collectible was displayed everywhere—museum quality, but without warmth. There was something cold in the space that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man standing before them. The house bore the stamp of his personality, and was permeated with the chill he emanated.
“You’ve invited an interesting collection of guests.”
At the words, Mannen turned in the direction Nick was gazing and stilled. If she hadn’t been watching so carefully, Sara would have missed the expression that flickered across his face and was gone. It had seemed almost like glee.
She looked at the group that had just entered the room, and recognized the two women who had spoken to her at the fund-raiser—Meghan Patterson and the state attorney, Addison Jacobs. Sara wondered who their escorts were. Nick had seemed certain that one was a cop, so that was sure to be the big man with the short-cropped dark hair and careful eyes. He bent down then, whispered something to Meghan, and she turned and smiled at him.
“I enjoy keeping things interesting.” Mannen raised a finger, and a waiter immediately came to his side. He lifted a glass from the tray, brought it to his lips.
“Who are the men?” Nick asked.
Mannen smiled serenely. “Thorns in my side. Detective Gabe Connally is the dark-haired gentleman. The blond man with our esteemed state attorney is Dare McKay, an investigative journalist.”
“As I said, an odd collection of guests.” Nick’s voice was hard. “Why would you invite that kind of scrutiny?”
His eyes cold, Mannen said, “How does that old saying go? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? I have nothing to hide. And before long, those four will find their suspicions…laid to rest.”
Sara’s gaze shot to his. Had she imagined the threat in his words? His expression remained impassive. But she had the impression of something dark and malevolent behind that smooth, genial mask.
A woman came up then and whispered in his ear. Mannen gave them a rueful look. “I’m sorry. I must attend to something in the kitchen. I would like to have the two of you visit again so we can have a more intimate gathering.” His brows raised, he looked from one to the other. “Sometime later this week, perhaps?”
“You have my number,” Nick said.
As she watched him walk away, Sara had a strong desire to wash. “I don’t know how many more times I can stand being near him,” she murmured, her revulsion evident in her voice.
Nick’s hand went to her back, his fingers rubbing soothingly. “You’ll never have to face him alone. Just remember that.”
But she would, at some point, have to face him. As herself, not as Raeanne Backstrom. In a trial she’d have to sit on the stand and tell her story, knowing all the time that he was behind the deaths of her friends, that he’d long plotted her own. And knowing that he wouldn’t rest until he’d succeeded.
“Don’t look now,” she said as an aside, as she looked beyond Nick’s shoulder, “but we’re about to have more company.”
“Hello again. We met a couple nights ago, at the fund-raiser.”
Sara smiled at the woman and her party. “Of course, Ah remember. Meghan and Addison, right? Darling—” she turned to Nick, shifting seamlessly into her role “—you recall me mentioning them, don’t you?”
During the round of introductions, she studied the group as nerves twitched in her stomach. The detective, Connally, had an expression that could have been etched from granite, and the same quick assessing look that she’d often seen in Nick’s eyes. McKay had the face of a glorious saint and the eyes of a beguiling sinner. And it was apparent, within thirty seconds of meeting, that she and Nick were being schmoozed.
The four were slick, Sara would give them that. If she didn’t have a naturally suspicious mind she might have thought friendliness was all that motivated them. They made the effort to chat casually for a bit, during which time Raeanne was called upon to admire Meghan’s engagement ring and hear a few details of the upcoming wedding.
Sara cast a wary look at Connally. She would never have imagined the stone-faced cop with the petite blond woman, but the only time she saw his stoic countenance relax at all was when he looked at his fiancée. Sara was equally surprised to hear McKay speak about shopping for rings with Addie, as he called the assistant state attorney. As the conversation swirled around her, Sara felt a sense of disorientation. It all seemed so…normal. Yet it was completely divorced from anything she could contemplate for her future. Whether Mannen ended up in prison or not, she’d never be safe again. And that kind of uncertainty wasn’t the sort she could invite anyone to share.
With a subtle maneuvering that elicited her respect, Sara was flanked by the women and engaged in idle chatter, while Nick was subjected to what amounted to little more than an interrogation.
“So you just got to the States recently?” This was from Dare, as he tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “First visit?”
“No, but I haven’t been here for a couple years.”
“Fly private?”
Sara’s attention was split between the women’s conversation and the men’s. From Connally’s question, she’d bet that he’d already checked out the public passenger lists at the airport.
“Yes, I enjoy the comfort my own jet affords.” Nick’s answers were smooth—all of them. Yes, this trip was for pleasure only. No, he had no business interests in the States, but the tech stock here was likely to rebound, wasn’t it?
“Do you and Mannen share stock tips?” Dare gave him an affable grin. “He probably has some hot commodities.” He gestured around the room. “From the looks of this place, he’s loaded.”
“I understand he’s become involved in another venture recently,” Connally murmured.
As Sara gave up pretending not to listen to the conversation, Nick responded to the detective’s remark. “I’m sure whatever he involves himself in is very lucrative.”
“His business interests are always worth looking into.” Gabe’s comment weighed heavily in the air. Sara wondered if she was imagining the meaning behind them.
A few minutes later the group excused themselves and drifted away. Sara waited until Nick had led her off before letting out a long breath. “My nerves are never going to last.”
He glanced around. “Your nerves are steel—they’d have to be to get through what you have the last few years. But we’re definitely going to have to be careful. The interest of Connally and McKay, not to mention Jacobs, can complicate everything.”
A skitter of unease chased through her system. “They’ll be looking into our covers, won’t they?”
“Poring over them, most likely. They’ll stand—I’m not worried about that. But when they do a little digging into Michel Falcol’s background—” he shrugged “—they’ll be watching me as closely as they do Mannen.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, chérie—” he pulled her into his arms and danced her out to the dance floor “—that I better take what I can when the opportunity presents itself.”
The opportunity presented itself less than an hour later. Nick thought the time had been spent pleasurably enough. Sara was relaxing in his arms, and when she wasn’t watching their feet, she had a natural grace that hel
ped her to match the rhythm he set.
He bent his head, nipped at her earlobe. “Follow my lead.”
“I thought that’s what I’d been doing.”
His arm tightened around her waist. “We’re going to take advantage of a distraction. Right…now.”
He danced her off the floor and bent down to press a warm kiss on her lips. Against them he whispered, “Mannen’s busy with Connally and the others. We’ve got some time.”
She may not have understood, but she didn’t ask questions as he guided her with seeming nonchalance from the room. A quick glance showed the space was empty, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He nuzzled her neck as they walked farther down the hall. Anyone noticing them would think they were seeking a little privacy.
When he came to the second door on the right, Nick reached into his pocket and palmed a small remote device. He pointed it at the door, and a small red light blinked furiously for several seconds, before turning to a green steady glow. There was a barely audible click. With a quick glance around, he replaced the remote and withdrew the gold pen. He pushed the door open an inch and played the device over the space. There was no response. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling Sara in behind him.
“This is Mannen’s office!” she hissed.
“So it is.” The intelligence he’d gathered had been correct. The office was right where it was supposed to be, and there were no security devices besides the electronic lock on the door. The man obviously felt protected in his own home.
“What are we doing in here?”
He took some latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them on. “I’m going on a search. You’re going to wait patiently and not touch anything.” He reengaged the lock with a push of a button on the console. If anyone came they would at least be alerted by the sound of the code being keyed in on the other side of the wall.
Scanning the room quickly, he decided to start with the computer. There was a low hum when he turned it on, and slipped an encryption disk into the CD carousel. It was a sweet piece of software, and utterly necessary in this case. Without Luc’s expertise he didn’t trust himself to break the code-protected files.
The disk made that unnecessary. It attacked the start-up data in the hard drive, sifting through patterns until it found one that appeared with some frequency. As the eight-character password popped up on the screen, Nick memorized it, used it, extracted the disk and put in a blank one. Then he began downloading files.
He didn’t bother to read them. He couldn’t afford to. There’d be time for that later. Checking his watch, he noted that they’d been inside for five minutes. They could afford only a couple more.
He looked at Sara. Her eyes were huge in her face.
“How do we get out of here?” she whispered anxiously.
Since that part would be the trickiest of this exercise, he thought it prudent not to answer. He waited impatiently for the files to finish downloading, then extracted the CD and slipped it into his pocket. The computer was then shut down, and he got up, taking care to replace the chair in its former position.
“Ready?” He quickly crossed the room toward her.
Her voice was shaky. “Definitely.”
“Wait just a second.” Striding to the door, he used the remote to disengage the lock, and pulled the door open a fraction. When he determined there was no one in the vicinity, he waved a hand for her to join him. She did so eagerly, a little too eagerly. Hearing a small sound, he turned to see that she’d stumbled, caught her heel on the hem of her dress. “Easy,” he breathed.
A moment later she’d reached his side, and checking the hallway again, he ushered her out, closing the door behind them and taking off the gloves. If those computer files turned up anything interesting, it could be a nice bonus to the file he was gathering on Mannen. It had been a risk, but one he’d thought worth taking. His life was comprised of weighing chances, figuring the odds.
With a glance at the silent woman beside him, he recalled that she still represented the biggest risk he’d ever taken. And the outcome of that particular venture was still far from decided.
“You’re a natural at subterfuge.” Nick folded his jacket over the back of a chair and began undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Sara gave him a sideways glance as she sat on the bed and slipped off her sandals. “I’ve had to be.”
He shrugged out of the shirt and threw it carelessly on top of the coat. Of course she had. As had he. But he could walk away from a job at any time and become Nick Doucet again. She didn’t have that option. He didn’t see a way for her to ever have it.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the water. If he could give her one thing, he thought savagely, unzipping his pants and stepping out of them, it would be to allow her that chance at a normal life. One where she wouldn’t have to fear anyone. Anything. One where she could learn to walk down a street without looking over her shoulder.
Something most people were able to do without ever giving it a second thought.
Naked, he walked to the bathroom and stopped inside the doorway. She had just finished washing her face and was patting it dry with a towel. The room smelled of her—the aroma of her perfume and her shampoo. He drew in her scent now, in a greedy, guilty swallow, and was pierced with a blade of need.
Setting the towel aside, she reached behind her to her zipper. He stepped forward and she stilled, their gazes locking in the mirror. Replacing her hands with his, he slowly unzipped her dress. Her slender back was bared, an inch at a time, and he leaned forward to drop a kiss against one shoulder blade.
She gave a quick little shiver at the contact, and his gut clenched in a violent surge of satisfaction. Maybe she didn’t completely trust him, but she couldn’t prevent her reaction to him. The knowledge had blood pooling in his loins.
He parted the silky fabric and, hooking a finger in each of the narrow straps, drew them down her arms. The dress puddled around her feet, and she stepped out of it, pushed it aside with one foot.
She was wearing a sheer bra and panties that left little to the imagination. The French, Nick thought with approval, had excellent taste in lingerie. His hands went to her hair, his gaze on hers in the mirror, and he started drawing out the pins. One after another strands fell like sleek bits of silk against his knuckles. When he’d removed them all, he threaded his fingers through her hair and kneaded her scalp.
He’d experienced both duty and desire, but he’d never known them to entwine, entangle until the result was uncertain. He knew better than to veer from his mission, but Sara presented a complication that couldn’t be denied. And she was one he wouldn’t deny himself.
His hands went to the clasp on her bra, released it. She moistened her lips, and he detected a flush of what could have been desire or embarrassment flood her cheeks. “You’re perfectly made, mon ange.” He rubbed the back of his fingers along the sides of her breasts and watched the small nipples peak at the contact. The evidence of her arousal was irresistible. He turned her in his arms and caught her mouth with his.
Her hands came to his chest, stroked. The contact was electric. His tongue probed her mouth, slow and deep, and when her tongue flicked against his, then away, he was suffused with heat.
He took one breast in his hand, feeling the nipple stab his palm. Tearing his lips from hers, he went in search of the small nub and took it in his mouth.
He suckled her, lashing her nipple with his tongue, the taste of her flesh driving spikes of need through his system. She gave a low thin cry and arched against him. He leaned her farther back over his arm and took more.
He wanted to excite her. He wanted to satisfy her in a way no other man ever could. And to that end he pleasured her with all the skill of his experience. He didn’t think of it as seduction. He was as much the seduced as the seducer. Sara’s spell over him was complete.
She squirmed against him, and his free hand found her hip, glided around to cup her silk-encased mound. The fabric
was damp with her moisture, and the discovery was erotic. Slipping his fingers beneath the silk, he stroked her satiny heat.
A groan was ripped from his throat. He raised his head, leaving her nipple glistening and tight. “You’re hot. Wet. Non.” Her hand fluttered over his, as if she were going to push it away. “Don’t. Do you know what it does to a man when a woman responds to him as you do?” His erection was rock hard against her hip. There was no missing the effect her response had on him. He waited until her body relaxed against his again, waited for her hand to raise to his arm, then stroked a finger inside her and felt the delicate pulsations of her inner muscles close around it.
She gave a sharp high cry, the sound calling to something elemental inside him. Every pulse in his body throbbed like a wound. The light in the room was too bright; it danced in his eyes. He pushed her panties aside with his other hand and rubbed her moist softness even as he probed deeper.
Sara arched against his hand, forcing him to the rhythm her body set. His lips went to her neck, and he shuddered against her. Tiny little demons from hell were riding his control with wicked, jagged spurs. He blinked, tried to focus, but all he could see was her.
He could feel her tensing beneath his touch, her hips moving more frantically. “Non,” he whispered, the word dragged out of him. “Wait, ma petite.” When he withdrew his touch she moaned, and he kissed the sound from her mouth. He dragged her panties over her hips and down her legs. Turning her around, he braced her hands on the vanity top. He stroked the round firm globes of her buttocks, moved between her legs. “I want to be inside you. You’re so silky and tight.” He guided himself into her womanly opening and his restraint began to fray as he pressed that first inch inside. He halted, feeling the delicate adjustments as her sensitive flesh yielded to his intrusion. He watched her face in the mirror as he rolled his hips and buried himself deeper. “I want to see you come. I want to feel it.”
