by Maggie Price
“Thank you,” Grace breathed, anticipating the moment when she’d be able to slap a pair of cuffs around Iris’s elegant wrists. “Will you be going there with us, Iris? To Winding Rock?”
“No, I’m leaving tomorrow. My vacation is over, and I’m due back to work at the clinic.”
“I see.” Grace’s stomach tightened. She knew that upon Iris’s return to work, Dr. Odgers would inform her that staffing vacancies had necessitated her temporary reassignment to the elder-care patients. Plus, the Bureau now had an undercover agent working inside the clinic to make sure Iris stayed clear of the young maternity patients. Still, Grace wouldn’t rest easy until the baby-snatching killer was in custody.
Grace wiped at her tears. “Iris, when I think this is all happening just because fate put us on bikes next to each other in a spin class…” She tied up the lie with a quick, watery laugh. “How can Mark and I ever thank you?”
With soothing notes from the piano hanging in the air, Iris gestured her glass as if to make a toast. “How about you let me have one dance with your gorgeous husband? Then I’ll leave the two of you alone to celebrate.”
Chapter 8
Moments later Mark guided Iris around the polished wooden dance floor that formed a semicircle on one side of the baby grand. A handful of other couples also swayed to the classic Cole Porter tune.
Keeping his touch light and impersonal, Mark glanced at the table where he, Iris and Grace had been seated. Grace had made her excuses and scurried off to the ladies’ room, claiming she needed a moment to dry the tears that had come with Iris’s good news about the impending adoption. Grace had yet to return. Mark knew she would linger out of sight while using a receiver to monitor his conversation with their prime suspect. Mindful of the transmitter implanted in his gold designer watch, he angled its face toward Davenport.
“So, Iris,” he began. “I get the impression you wanted to dance with me for reasons other than to celebrate that I may soon become a father.”
“I guess this is why you’re so successful in business,” Iris responded, giving him an indulgent smile. “Not much gets past you.”
The nurse was tall and her heels brought her flawless face level with Mark’s so that he had a clear view of her kohl-rimmed eyes. Despite the lounge’s dim lighting, he could almost see her mind working the angles.
“It’s been my experience that business in particular and life in general runs smoother when I don’t allow things to get past me,” he commented. “What is it you can’t say in front of my wife?”
“It’s just something my source mentioned in passing. Grace seems so…vulnerable when it comes to the subject of having a child. I didn’t want to give her anything to worry about.”
“With all the disappointments we’ve had over the years, Grace has every right to feel vulnerable.”
“Yes, of course. She’s been through so much. You both have. I just didn’t see any point in dampening her excitement, but I thought you should know.” Iris raised a sleek shoulder. “It’s best not to have something jump up and bite you at the last minute.”
“I agree. In this case, what would that something be?”
“Fortunately, the inquiry I made to the attorney on your and Grace’s behalf came in first, so you have priority. But I was told there’s another couple interested in adopting the little girl.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. No stranger to manipulation, Iris hadn’t taken long to zero in on the heart of the matter. A bidding war would up the amount of money she and her associates raked in for a baby sold on the black market.
“How interested is this couple?” Mark asked evenly.
“Very. From what I could find out, it appears they’ve tried to have their own child even longer than you and Grace. Endured all the medical procedures. Added their names to waiting lists with numerous agencies. That’s basically all I know about them, other than that they’re very well off financially.”
Mark doubted that this specific desperate, childless couple existed, but he couldn’t be sure. “So, what you’re saying is these people waiting in the wings will be more than willing to step in if Grace and I are found to be…lacking in any area.” Considering the topic at hand, he kept his face tense, his eyes somber. “In other words, this may all come down to money.”
“I really don’t know.” Iris sent him a frown that had a practiced edge to it. “Something questionable could come up in the background of this other couple that would automatically eliminate them from the birth mother’s consideration. That would clear the way for you and Grace. In these matters, I suppose anything is possible. But you’re probably right. Money may be the deciding factor.”
He’d bet on it. “If so, I assure you Grace and I will soon be parents. I intend to do everything in my power to prevent her from being hurt again. No matter the cost.”
Iris angled her chin. “You know, Mark, just listening to you makes me want to sigh.”
He raised a brow. “How so?”
“The way you talk about Grace. How protective you are toward her.” Iris shook back her long red hair. “I’ve seen you looking at Grace sometimes like you want to slurp her up in one big gulp. If I ever catch a man looking at me that way, I’ll consider myself the luckiest woman in the world.”
Mark felt a line of heat shoot up the back of his neck. At least he’d done a far better job of concealing his profession from Iris than he had his true feelings for his undercover partner. He took a moment to wonder how Grace—and the other agents monitoring the conversation—were reacting to Iris’s comment.
“Slurp her up,” he repeated lightly. “Iris, I had no idea you’re such a romantic.”
She laughed. “Guess my secret’s out now.”
“Apparently.” Waiting a few beats for the moment to pass, Mark gave her a somber look. “You have my eternal gratitude for telling me about the other couple. If I can repay the favor, let me know.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Far be it for me to think it’s a bad thing to have a handsome man in my debt.”
Just then the music died away. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Grace step around the corner.
“There’s your gorgeous wife,” Iris said, motioning Grace to join them.
“Darling, are you all right?” As he spoke, Mark slid his arm around Grace’s waist, and felt tension in her as tight as a plucked string. He knew his conversation with Iris had filled Grace with the same deep-seated need he felt to haul their suspect away in cuffs.
“I’m fine.” Grace smiled up at him. “More than fine,” she added, then looked at Iris. “This is a wonderful night and we owe it all to you. I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to thank you.”
“All I wanted was a dance with your gorgeous husband, and he obliged. I consider all debts paid.”
Mark glanced at their table. “Shall we finish our drinks?”
“I can’t.” Iris placed a restraining hand on his arm. “I have an early flight in the morning so I need to get back to my room and finish packing.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving.” Reaching out, Grace gripped Iris’s hand. “Promise me you’ll spend your next vacation in Houston with us. And the baby.” Grace’s voice bubbled with a kind of joyful hysteria. “We’ll have the baby then.”
“It’s a date.” Iris’s lips curved in a suggestive arch. “Since the two of you are already on the dance floor, stay where you are. I’m going to ask the pianist to play something in your honor.” She gave Grace’s hand a squeeze. “Be happy,” she added before moving off toward the piano, her ankle-wrecking stilettos clicking against the wooden floor.
“We’ll be peachy,” Grace murmured. “The instant we take you down.”
Shifting, Mark curled a finger beneath her chin, tipped it up. “Darling,” he began quietly, “I take it you listened to the conversation?”
“I heard it all, sweetheart.” She smoothed the lapel of his suit coat. “I wouldn’t
be surprised if the creeps involved in this operation hired an auctioneer to make sure they sell the baby to the highest bidder.”
“Greed.” Dipping his head, Mark dropped a kiss on her hair. “An eternal motive.”
“Murder, kidnapping, child selling.” Grace slid a look toward the piano before giving him a bright smile. “I’m so going to enjoy hauling that bitch’s butt to jail.”
“Don’t think I’m going to let you have all the fun.”
Just then the pianist swept his fingers across the keys, filling the air with a torchy love song.
Mark nodded to Iris as she gave a slight wave, then moved toward the door. He noted the sure set to her shoulders, the confident sway of her hips. Anyone watching would believe her to be a woman who had everything under control. He felt a surge of satisfaction that came with knowing it was only a matter of time before her world came crashing down around her.
As if to confirm that, the FBI agent nursing a beer at the bar slid off his stool. He tossed a couple of bills beside his glass, then strolled out the door after Iris.
Mark swept a casual, assessing glance around the lounge’s dim interior. Every table and most of the long-legged stools at the bar were occupied. He turned back to Grace, knowing she was as aware as he that Iris might have left an associate behind to keep an eye on them.
“Looks like you’re stuck dancing with your husband, Mrs. Calhoun,” he said, offering her his hand.
“Just remember this is a public place, Mr. C.” She arched a dark brow as she slid her fingers against his palm. “So try to refrain from slurping me up in one big gulp.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured. As he would the fact of just how perceptive Iris Davenport could be.
He clicked the stem on his watch to deactivate the transmitter. “Thanks for reminding my fellow agents of Davenport’s remark,” he said, then nudged Grace closer. “I imagine I’m in for some heavy razzing over it.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“So, Mrs. C., has anyone ever mentioned that you’ve got great acting skills?”
“You think so?”
“Know so. That little hysterical laugh of happiness you laid on Davenport sounded like the real thing.”
Grace gave him a demure smile. “An Oscar would look great on my fireplace mantel. Be sure to mention my name to the nominating committee.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said while the music swelled around them.
They had danced together many times, Mark thought as he tightened his arm around her waist. Years ago when they’d been lovers. When she had belonged to him in every way but one. Then, he wouldn’t have hesitated to dip his head and kiss her while they moved to slow, alluring music. And while they swayed, the taste of her would shoot through his system, sharpening the clawing need he’d felt for her. Constantly felt. Then he would take her home to his bed and make love with her until they were both delirious, sated and spent. And always, always, the more he’d had her, the more he’d wanted.
But all that was history. They’d gone their separate ways. Years had passed. Plenty of time for the heat between them to cool.
The scorching kisses they’d shared just days ago proved nothing had cooled.
Mark looked down, saw that Grace was watching him, her eyes dark and intense. “Something on your mind?” he asked quietly.
“Mainly, I keep thinking about what Iris said about the other couple waiting in the wings for this baby. Logic tells me there probably isn’t another couple.”
“I agree.”
He also agreed it was best that they keep their conversation focused on business. Centering his thoughts on the case, however, wasn’t quite so easy. Not since he’d discovered their bodies still swayed together as if they were each half of an intricate puzzle created to move in perfect synchronization. Her hips shifted lightly against his. Their thighs brushed. He could feel her heart beating against his, quick now, and not too steady.
His own pulse was nowhere near steady.
The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree washed the piano in a sweep of light. The musician caressed the keys, coaxing out music to weep by. To make love to. To dream on.
“But suppose you and I really were the Calhouns,” Grace continued.
“All right, let’s suppose.” He wondered if she realized her voice had taken on a breathy edge.
“And that there really was another couple wanting to adopt the baby as much or even more than we do,” she said. “Just being told about them would make me feel a hundred times more desperate. Totally vulnerable. Much more willing to pay whatever amount they asked for the child.”
“That’s the game plan Iris and whoever she’s working with have set up. They dangle the one thing you want most in the world within arm’s reach. At the same time they let you know it’s hanging there by a thread and might be snatched away in the blink of an eye. Gone forever, unless you come up with enough cash. It’s easy to bleed their customers dry using that tactic.”
“What leeches,” Grace murmured. “At least our investigation is off high center now. We know the name of Iris’s attorney pal so we can get the lowdown on him.”
“And the agent we’ve got working undercover at the clinic will start combing files to see if they’ve got a maternity patient who matches what Iris told us about the baby’s mother.” As he spoke Mark splayed his palm at the small of Grace’s back where midnight-blue sequins gave way to flesh. Beneath his fingers he felt her shudder.
“Hopefully—” Her voice faltered. The hand she’d rested on his shoulder flexed, then fisted. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we’ll have a lead on the birth mother before you and I get to Winding Rock. With the baby due so soon, things will move fast.”
“Yeah.” Mark knew it was possible they might have things wrapped up before Christmas. He would then go wherever his boss sent him. He was the only agent in the Crimes Against Children Unit without a wife or a family, so he’d volunteered to work holidays. Most of them he spent in whatever small town or sprawling metropolis the latest vicious deviant had surfaced. While other people celebrated, he holed up with crime-scene photos and reams of reports, trying to figure out where the suspect might strike next. Doing his damnedest to find answers before another child suffered. Maybe died. All the while, he struggled to control his own thoughts, fought to separate one crime from another, to keep the cases he worked from running together like rivers of blood.
The prospect of what lay ahead in his future brought back the pounding exhaustion. Without conscious thought, he buried his face in Grace’s hair and pulled in her soft, warm scent.
He felt like a sleepwalker, slipping between the past and present. The past, in which he’d had her but couldn’t keep her. The present, in which she had transformed into a seemingly impersonal acquaintance. A co-worker, whom he’d agreed to keep his hands off. One whose soft, hot flesh shivered when the job required him to touch her.
Holding her close, he felt the heat of her body seep through the layers of his clothing. He didn’t have to imagine what she looked like beneath the midnight-blue sequins. He pictured her and let the need rise inside him while he bit back a moan.
His fingers grazed up her spine, tangling with the ends of her hair. For as long as he could remember he had wanted no other woman except her. Only her. With his arms wrapped around her and the exotic, feminine scent of her perfume filling his lungs, it wasn’t such a huge step to imagine she was his again.
Easing out an unsteady breath, she pulled back slightly and gazed up at him. The dim light darkened her eyes, shadowed her cheeks. “We may have the case wrapped before Christmas,” she said, as if she’d read his thoughts.
“Probably.” When they’d first met it had been right after the holidays, and his transfer to the CACU had come through eight months later. He and Grace had never spent a Christmas together. That hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her every December twenty-fifth for the past six years. Wondering about her. Wishing he kn
ew what she was doing. Speculating if her thoughts ever drifted to him, even during the years she’d been married to Ryan Fox.
Mark tightened his hand on hers as they continued to sway to the sensuous music. “Tell me about the McCalls’ typical Christmas Day.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Just curious.” He thought about the awesome meals he’d eaten at her parents’ home. The rambunctious family that had gathered around the massive dining room table. And always after attending one of those meals, he’d been left to wonder about, to envy, to covet the love that was so evident. “Roma cooks on Christmas, right? She and your dad have everyone over?”
Grace nodded. “Mom takes care of what we call the spread. Gran helps, although arthritis has slowed her down some. All the kids show up in the morning with even more food and presents.”
“Kids?” Mark grinned. “Isn’t Bran in his midthirties?”
“Right.” Grace shrugged. “Even when all six of us have gray hair and wrinkles, Mom’ll still call us ‘the kids.’ Anyway, Christmas Day is basically a mad house. It’ll probably be even more of one this year with Carrie and Morgan bringing their fiancés.” A frown formed between Grace’s brows. “Though Bran and Tory are still separated, so I doubt he’ll be Mr. Holiday Cheer.”
“Lucky for him he has you to help him get through it.”
“Tell Bran that,” Grace said with a smirk. “Whenever I ask if he’s taking care of himself, I hear terms like pest and nag.”
“Isn’t that the job of a big brother?” Mark asked. “To hammer his siblings occasionally?”
“True,” Grace said, her eyes sharpening on his face. “So, I remember you telling me once that you’re an only child.”
“That’s right,” he answered. It was a fact he’d always been glad of. It had meant he’d only had himself to try to protect. Considering the beatings he’d taken, he hadn’t done a very good job of it.
