by Maggie Price
Thank goodness, she thought, while slippery knots of panic tightened her stomach. Thank goodness someone from housekeeping had chosen that moment to ring the doorbell and rescue her from herself. She’d make sure to leave a big tip—
“Grace.”
Her head jerked around at the sound of Mark’s voice. Without waiting for him to step fully into the bathroom, she sprang off the tub, saying, “I can’t do this. It was a mistake. I just can’t.”
He stepped swiftly inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. “We have company.”
The cool caution in his eyes and voice put her instincts on instant alert. “Who?”
“Your new friend from the spa. Iris Davenport.”
“She’s here?” Grace whispered.
“She said you got upset during your massage and wants to make sure you’re okay. I invited her to join us for a drink. She accepted.” He took a step closer, his voice low. “I covered by telling her I’d just gotten off the golf course and hadn’t seen you yet. Didn’t know what your emotional state was. Grace, what happened during your massage?”
“Nothing, really. Really,” she repeated when his eyes narrowed. “I just did a good job of acting. Showing her how upset I was over not having a baby.” It was the truth, if a simplified version.
“You apparently did a good job.”
“Looks like it.” Grace thought for a moment. “Here’s the short version,” she began, keeping her voice low to negate any possibility of being overheard. “On the surface, Davenport comes off likable. Very friendly. She seemed empathetic, even concerned over my being upset because we can’t seem to conceive a child. But an awareness settled in her eyes the instant I let on that we might have a fertility problem.”
Grace swept her hand toward the counter where she’d taken off Mrs. Calhoun’s diamond wedding ring. “I saw dollar signs in Davenport’s eyes when she got a good look at that rock. And she made a point to ask what you do for a living. I could almost hear her mind working, doing the math on how much we might pay for a child. She’s our girl, Santini.”
“It’s looking more and more like it,” Mark agreed. “And it’s reasonable to think she showed up here unannounced to see if we’re who we say we are. Anyone murdering young girls and kidnapping their infants can’t be too careful.”
“True.”
“Did she mention the possibility of adoption?”
“No, and I made sure not to bring it up,” Grace added. When formulating their ops plan, she and Mark had agreed not to mention the prospect of the Calhouns adopting a child. Doing so might send up a flag of caution in Davenport’s head. Plus, letting the suspect broach the subject on her own negated the possibility down the road of some defense attorney claiming his client had been the victim of entrapment.
Grace blew out a breath. She truly had lost her mind. She and Mark were working undercover, for heaven’s sake. Their suspect was presently cooling her heels in the living room. Davenport’s unexpected presence was a reminder that, when it came to working undercover, nothing was for sure. Anything could trip you up. A suspect, even an innocent passerby, could turn the tables at a moment’s notice. Could transform what appeared to be a relatively benign assignment into a life-and-death situation. That she and Mark had let their personal relationship distract them was flat-out dereliction of duty. They had to pull back, act like professional cops instead of still-hot-for-each-other ex-lovers.
Grace shoved a hand through her still-damp hair. “I should have already told you all about my encounter with Davenport. Mark, we should have been going over the case, not…each other.”
“You won’t get an argument from me,” he said evenly. “Under the circumstances we’d be wise to postpone anything that doesn’t have to do with the job.”
“Cancel it,” Grace amended, well aware of the sensations still churning in her system. This man standing just inches away was everything she’d remembered and sought to forget. And she so desperately wanted to forget. Desperately wanted to let him walk away this time without losing another part of herself.
She stiffened both her spine and her resolve to close the door on further temptation. Both the personal and professional consequences were too great. “Cancel,” she repeated.
Mark’s dark eyes stayed cool and steady on hers. Then he gave a curt nod. “I’ll go mix Davenport a drink. How much time until you join us?”
“Give me ten minutes,” Grace said as she reached for the hair dryer.
Chapter 6
Cancel it.
Grace’s words echoed in Mark’s head while he strode through the suite’s bedroom and headed down the short hallway.
Cancel all future kisses. Avoid potential brushes of flesh against flesh. Sidestep every reference to the past. Better yet, forget their past.
Sure thing, he thought with a cynical shake of his head. He might feel more optimistic about the prospect of success if he hadn’t already tried to forget for six years running. In all that time he hadn’t seen her, heard from her, yet Grace McCall-Fox had never been far from his deepest thoughts, even during the time she’d belonged to another man.
Even when he had been with other women. There had always been a voice in the dark recesses of his brain whispering to him that Grace was the one. She was his match.
Whatever hope he might have harbored that the passage of time had at least taken an edge off the memories had been dispelled moments ago when his mouth settled on hers. The need, the longing had seemed much too fresh to have lain dormant for six years. The memories he carried of her were sharper than he had thought. Nothing was forgotten. Nothing.
Scrubbing a hand across his face, he paused at the end of the hallway. This was not the time to think about coiled lust, unbidden need, or the woman he’d recently made one hell of an attempt to swallow. He eased out a breath, then another, while the FBI agent in him ruthlessly diverted his thoughts to his quarry.
Iris Davenport, currently cooling her heels in the suite’s living room, had possibly killed two young women and kidnapped their newborn infants. Chances were, she was deeply involved in a black market adoption ring that sold babies to the highest bidder. Experience had taught Mark never to underestimate a suspect, and he had no intention of starting with Davenport. Coincidence was not in his cop’s vocabulary. In police work, things happened for reasons. Davenport had rung the doorbell of Mr. and Mrs. Mark Calhoun’s suite for more purposes than to just check on the emotional well-being of a woman she’d met that day at a health spa.
He felt his muscles begin to tighten. Felt the adrenaline, the hunting hormone, slowly flow into his bloodstream. He’d always savored the feel of getting nearer to a suspect, the closing in. One less monster left free to prey on innocents.
He took a silent step around the corner and paused. Davenport was still seated on one end of the long, plush sofa where he’d left her, thumbing through a glossy magazine that presented an overview of high-end shopping locales in Las Vegas. While she was still unaware of his presence, Mark glanced toward the console behind the desk in the alcove that served as a small office. He noted the green light glowing on the eavesdropping device he’d placed there that morning. Apparently, Davenport had not bugged the room during his absence.
He shifted his gaze back to her. She was tall and slender, with dark red hair that cascaded around her shoulders and down her back in a mass of curls. Her face was chiseled, with pronounced cheekbones, a strong jawline and a long, straight nose. She wore loose white pants made of some sort of drapey material, with a long slate-blue tunic top belted in black leather. Her hands were slender; her faux fingernails, long enough to be viewed as potential claws, were painted a rich cinnamon. Not quite the hands one pictured for a nurse, Mark mused. Of course, if she was guilty of murder and kidnapping, she wasn’t like most nurses. Guilty or not, Mark had no trouble picturing the woman assuring a patient that a shot would feel like a small sting, when in truth it would raise a knot the size of a doorknob.
&
nbsp; “Sorry to leave you alone,” he said as he strode toward her.
Looking up, Davenport gave him a cordial smile and laid the magazine on the coffee table in front of her. “That’s okay.” Her dark-eyed gaze slid past him toward the hallway. “Is Grace coming?”
“As soon as she dries her hair and gets dressed.” Frowning, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks. “I’m glad you dropped by. Grace knows it affects me to see her upset, and she’s become adept at camouflaging her feelings. If you hadn’t thought to check on her, I doubt I would have known how troubled she was earlier.”
Davenport leaned forward, as if to share a secret. “Is she okay now?” she asked in a whispery voice.
“She seems fine.” Mark gave her what he knew looked like a forced smile. “If a little embarrassed that she made you uncomfortable during your workout session.”
“But she didn’t.” Davenport raised a palm, let it drop. “It was the other way around. There we were having just met, and I started asking questions that were clearly too personal. That’s something I routinely do on my job, and I just got carried away today.”
“Your job?”
“I’m a registered nurse. One of my job duties is to take patient histories. Anyone who’s ever visited a doctor’s office knows there’s all sort of personal questions involved in doing that.”
“True,” Mark agreed.
Davenport gave him a chagrined look. “So, I not only came by to check on Grace, but to apologize for being so nosy and making her feel uneasy.”
“From the sound of things, you were just being friendly.” Mark glanced across his shoulder toward the bedroom, then looked back at Davenport. “Frankly, I’m glad Grace has found another woman here to whom she feels she can talk about our attempts to start a family. She and I discuss things, of course, but it’s emotional for both of us. Her having you to talk to eases my mind.”
“I’m glad to lend an ear.” Davenport raised a shoulder. “Ever ask yourself why it’s sometimes a lot easier to un-burden ourselves to a stranger than to someone who’s close?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” Although Davenport’s words seemed sincere, Mark glimpsed a flicker of the same awareness in her eyes that Grace had described. It was a look of cool stealth, as if the woman had spotted a target and was zeroing in. Mark looked forward to the day when he had Davenport in an interview room so he could do the same.
He stepped toward the wet bar, saying, “I’ve kept you waiting long enough for that drink I promised.” Having brought up the subject of the Calhouns’ failed attempts to have a child, he didn’t want to dwell on it. “What can I fix you?”
“Vodka and soda would be good.”
“Coming up.” Davenport’s choice of something alcoholic was to their favor, Mark thought as he poured her drink into a crystal tumbler. He could only hope she would stay a while and give the liquor time to take the edge off her defenses.
“Grace mentioned you live in Houston,” she commented.
“That’s right.” As a concession to the perpetual burn in his stomach, Mark poured himself ginger ale, topped it with a lime wedge, then carried both tumblers across the living room. “Grace and I are both native Texans. How about you?”
“I’m from Oklahoma.”
He raised a brow. “That makes us not only neighbors, but rivals during college football season.”
“Friendly rivals,” she amended when he passed her drink to her.
Mark felt her long fingernails brush his hand and instantly wondered if it was by accident or design. If Davenport was flirting, it could be a test to see if he would succumb to her advances. He had delved into the mind of enough criminals to know that a fair number of them possessed at least a modicum of conscience. If Davenport fell into that category, one way to justify her crimes would be to ensure the babies she handled went only to couples devoted to each other.
Instead of joining her on the couch, Mark settled into one of the wing chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table. “So, Ms. Davenport, do you work at a hospital?”
“Oh, call me Iris.”
“I’m Mark.”
“I work at a clinic in Oklahoma City right now.” She sipped her drink, her eyes intense points of interest as she surveyed him over the rim of her glass. Although the clothes he’d worn to play golf in were casual, they were expensive. As were the solid-gold wedding band and designer watch he wore.
“Nursing must be a rewarding career,” Mark commented. “To know you help so many people.”
“It is. I think Grace said something about your being in the oil and gas business.”
“That’s right.” Davenport’s lack of interest in talking about herself underlined Mark’s belief that she was there to learn if Mr. Calhoun’s need to have a child went as deep as his wife’s. If so, did the couple have adequate funds in the bank to meet those needs?
“Grace mentioned you’re involved in some other energy concern,” Davenport added. She slid her auburn eyebrows together, as if trying to retrieve a memory. “I can’t remember what that was.”
“Wind energy production,” Mark said without missing a beat. “I own a controlling interest in a company that constructs wind farms.”
Using an index finger, Davenport made a small circling motion. “You build windmills?”
“Actually, the correct term is wind turbines.”
“Well, we certainly have a lot of wind in Oklahoma.”
“Not as much as in California and Texas. Then there’s Iowa.” Mark sipped his ginger ale. The woman’s intense scrutiny made him feel like a lab specimen. “However, we’re in the first stages of expanding into your state.” The FBI agent responsible for rifling through Davenport’s trash had checked her room and noted she hadn’t brought a laptop computer on this trip. Still, Mark would lay odds that she—or her unknown accomplice—would soon hit the Internet to research wind power and find out the amount of potential financial gain involved.
And if she directed her online research toward Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun, Davenport would find the photos the Bureau had downloaded of himself and Grace supposedly attending Houston art openings, political fund-raisers and charity auctions.
Behind him, Mark heard the tap of Grace’s footsteps against the hardwood floor as she stepped into the living room. “That didn’t take long,” he said, rising.
“Long enough to keep our company waiting.” Grace patted her dark hair, pinned into a sleek, graceful twist. Her long-sleeved dress was a perfect curve of black knit that ended midthigh and snugged against her body in all the right places. Sheer smoky-black hose and spiked heels pulled Mark’s gaze to her slim legs as she crossed the expanse of Oriental carpet. He allowed himself an instant to regret that those legs weren’t currently wrapped around him. Cancel it, he told himself, then ruthlessly shifted his thoughts back to business.
“As always, you look gorgeous,” he said when Grace slid a hand into the crook of his arm. Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss against her temple. “Is that dress new?”
“Yes.” She gave their guest a smile. “Iris, I’m so glad you dropped by.”
“I told Mark I didn’t mean to impose. I just wanted to apologize again for getting too nosy during our massage.”
“In that case, I’ll say I’m sorry again for getting so emotional.” Fluidly Grace moved to the couch and settled near her new friend. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s forget the entire episode and enjoy ourselves.”
Mark stepped behind the bar and mixed a tonic water for Grace. “Iris, can I freshen your drink?”
“No, thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I can only stay a few more minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Grace asked, accepting the tumbler Mark handed her. “We’d love to have you join us for dinner.” Her mouth curved. “I twisted Mark’s arm and talked him into hitting the casino with me afterward.”
Iris glanced his way. “You’re not a gambling man?”
“I prefer
to think that I don’t toss money away.” He settled on the couch a few intimate inches from Grace. Her warm, soft scent instantly settled over him, into him. “When I make an investment, I want to know up front what the potential return will be.” He skimmed a hand across Grace’s shoulder. “But my wife enjoys playing blackjack, and I like to see her happy, so we’ll spend time in the casinos while we’re here.” The smile he gave Davenport was full of polite invitation. “Are you sure you can’t join us tonight?”
She glanced again at her watch, then set her tumbler on the coffee table. “I wish I could, but I’ve made other plans for the evening. If I don’t leave now I’ll be late.”
“Our loss,” Mark said as he and Grace rose together. He knew the agents trailing Davenport would advise them where she went after leaving the suite. “You’ll give us a rain check?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Davenport threaded the chain of her small black evening bag over her shoulder, then looked at Grace. “Will I see you at the spa tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Grace said as they moved toward the door. “Keely—the sadistic attendant—talked me into booking the entire morning. Facial, shampoo and set, manicure. Pedicure.”
Mark cocked his head. “None of that sounds too sadistic.”
“Waxing of various sensitive areas,” Grace added, shooting him a long-suffering look.
“Ouch,” he murmured.
“I’ll tough it out.” Grace ran a hand down his sleeve. “Just think how great I’ll look when you pick me up for lunch.”
“You’ll look more than great,” Iris assured her. “I’m having a full-body paraffin dip and wrap in the morning. You can’t imagine what that does for your skin.”
Grace arched a brow. “Full body?”
“Actually…” Mark let his voice trail off and pursed his mouth, giving the impression he was a husband scrambling for a way out. In truth, while formulating their ops plan, he and Grace had come up with a variety of scenarios designed to keep Davenport in their sights after they made initial contact with her.
