by Meryl Sawyer
“Matt, wait … stop!” cried Trevor, then he yelled, “Shelly, you can’t sit up.”
Somehow Shelly had managed to lever herself upright, yanking the pulley to one side. The contraption snapped, releasing her. Matt lunged to catch Shelly before she pitched forward and injured herself more. A second later she was in his arms, her bandaged head resting against his shoulder.
He brought her closer, dodging the wires and tubes as well as the arm encased in a plaster cast. Her body seemed unbelievably light, yet it relaxed against him as if he were an old, trusted friend.
“You were trying to tell me, were you?” he asked as he stroked her back.
Her fingers were twined with his and blood from the tear made by the IV oozed, hot and sticky, onto his skin. She was touching his palm. Writing. What a fool he’d been. This was the only way she had of communicating.
He cradled her in his arms as Shelly stroked his palm with a very shaky finger. H-E-L—She paused, her hand trembling, then she began again. P-M-E. It took a split second for his brain to process the message. Help me.
He gathered her even closer, whispering, “Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”
Chapter 6
Dexxter Foxx inspected the magazine photograph of himself in Software Update, the industry Bible. Shit! It didn’t do him justice. His baby blues—those sexy bedroom eyes—looked squinty. He was handsome, he assured himself. Drop-dead handsome.
The buzzer on his desk trilled and he heard his secretary’s voice. “There’s a gentleman here to see you from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
His secretary sounded rattled, and a thread of unease wound through Dexxter. “Send him right in.”
Special Agent John Thomas walked in, flashed Dexx his identification, then said, “We’re investigating the death of a federal marshal who was killed in Sacramento.”
“California?” Dexx said as if it were some third world country no one gave a shit about.
“We have reason to believe Amy Conroy was involved. She worked here, didn’t she?”
The man knew she did, probably knew everything about her, but Dexx played along. “She was my employee for nearly five years, but when her mother died, Amy went off the deep end. After the funeral, she disappeared.”
“Did you suspect foul play?” The man asked the question with a poker face as if he didn’t know exactly what had happened to her.
“We were worried when she didn’t show up for work. Irene, one of my employees, went over to Amy’s apartment. The landlord said Amy had moved out. She was going to L.A. We assumed that’s what she did.”
The FBI agent nodded slowly, and Dexx’s guard went up even more. Why was he really here? He knew all of this. It must be some sort of a trap. Say as little as possible, he warned himself.
“She was living in Sacramento in a rental house. A federal marshal was visiting her when the place was bombed, and he was killed. She vanished.”
“Why would she murder him?” Dexx asked, thinking this would be a logical question if a person did not know Amy had been in the witness protection program. Dexx gave himself a mental pat on the back for having Zane bribe an FBI employee to obtain the confidential dossier on Amy. Now they had an inside source.
“We’re not certain she committed the crime, but we’d like to question her. Do you know the names of any of her friends?”
“She didn’t have any friends that I know of. She had an ugly birthmark on her face. She was very sensitive about it, so she kept to herself.” Dexx leaned back in his chair, doing a damn good job of appearing relaxed. “She didn’t have time for friends either. Her mother had Parkinson’s disease and required constant care, especially at the end.”
“You won’t mind if I question the other workers? Amy might have said something that will give us a lead.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Dexx replied with a smile. What choice did he have?
The agent left, and not two seconds later Irene rushed into his office, breathless. As usual, she wore a short dress that gloved her buns like a lover’s hand.
“Are they on to us?” she asked.
“No, it’s just a fishing expedition. They’ve lost their star witness. They’re hoping someone around here can help them.”
“Do you think anyone else—”
“No one else knows. Amy was smarter than all of them put together.”
Irene hitched her skirt up and sat on the edge of his desk, exposing a lot of thigh. “Anyway, we’ve corrected the problem. No one can prove we’re doing anything illegal, or that we’ve had anyone killed.”
“Do you know what this visit tells me? The Feds don’t have a clue where Amy is either. Otherwise they wouldn’t be sniffing around here.”
Irene stood, then came around his desk. “You’re tense. I can see it in your neck. Let me give you a back rub while I tell about Zane’s latest report.”
Dexx almost told her to forget it, but the agent’s questions had left him on edge. Even if he was one step ahead of them, no one wanted the Feds breathing down their neck.
Dexx had to turn sideways in his chair for her to give him a massage. Irene began as she always did, by raking her long fingernails up and down his back in slow, sweeping motions. He’d taken off his jacket earlier, so her nails felt sharper than usual. Almost sexy.
“Zane contacted all the plastic surgeons in the Sacramento area. None of them treated Amy.”
Dexx leaned his head forward as she worked her way up his neck with her nails, then into the hair at the base of his skull. He released a long sigh, his blood feeling heavy and thick as it thrummed through his temples. Irene was good for something after all. “Tell him to check San Francisco. It’s close. Amy might have gone there.”
Irene was using her hands now, kneading the taut muscles at the top of his shoulders. Languid heat shimmied through his body.
He should have let Amy give him back rubs, he thought. If he’d paid more attention to her, Amy would still be here. He didn’t like looking at her, but if she’d been behind him like Irene was now, Amy’s face wouldn’t have deflated the erection he was getting.
“Dexx, do you know how much this is costing us? Zane can’t just walk into a doctor’s office and expect to get confidential patient information. He and his men have been posing as reporters doing an article on the use of laser surgery to remove birthmarks and other scars.”
“So?” He hadn’t known how Zane was getting the info and didn’t give a shit. Results were what counted.
“If a doctor doesn’t cooperate, he has to break into the office to get the information.” Irene was working on his upper back now, the base of her palms massaging the deep muscle tissue. The effort made her voice breathy and mildly arousing. “Zane charges us triple if he has to break in.”
“It’s worth it. If we don’t find Amy, it’s just a matter of time before the FBI does.”
“I have an idea. I’m going to use the Internet to see if I can locate the bitch.”
Her tone might have frightened some men, but Dexx had been around Irene for too long. She was full of herself, that’s all.
“Do you know about Animalnetwork.com?” she asked as she pummeled his muscles with the sides of her hands in short, choppy motions.
“Nope, never heard of it.” He left surfing the Net to dumb fucks. The money was in microchips and software.
“Zane got a picture of the dog Amy was supposed to have stolen. One of the other neighbors took the picture to show to the Animal Rescue League.” She pulled a photo out of her pocket, an amazing feat, considering how tight she wore her clothes.
He didn’t like animals; they got fur all over his suits. This dog was less likable than most. It was butt ugly. “What happened to its ear?”
“According to the neighbor, the dog’s owner cut half of it off to prove to his wife that she’d be sorry if she left him. He got drunk that night and his wife simply disappeared.”
He cocked his head and gazed up at Irene. “Two women
disappear from the same neighborhood. Maybe the connection’s there.”
“Perhaps, but I’m checking in at animalnetwork. If anyone has seen that dog, missing a piece of its ear, they aren’t likely to forget it.”
It sounded like a half-assed idea to him, but he kept his mouth shut and let her use her thumbs to ease the tension in his neck. He pretended it was Amy Conroy behind him, and was amazed at how erotic he found that thought.
As Irene’s thumbs roved up and down, she leaned forward until her tits brushed his back. Casually yet provocatively. The hot nubs of her nipples pressed against him.
It was a little game Irene liked to play. She relaxed him, then she purposely aroused him. She changed position, deliberately dragging her huge tits with their bulging nipples across his back.
He imagined Amy’s jiggling breasts as she’d walked across the office—her good side to him—and pretended those big jugs were against his back now. His body responded, heat turning his groin to iron and kicking his pulse into high gear. He closed his eyes, letting the fantasy take hold.
“So what do you think about my idea?” Irene asked, jolting him back to reality.
“I’ll think of something myself,” he snapped. “I always do.”
He had a world-class hard-on that was begging for relief. He refused to give in to the urge to screw Irene. Instead, he would let her strut her stuff, then he would pick up the telephone and call Technical Assistants.
It was just a fancy name for a call girl service conveniently located just up the street. They would send over a real looker to take care of him. The techs cost a lot, sure, but it was worth it, because he could walk away.
If he became involved with Irene, there would be no escaping her. She’d been after him since they were kids. Once her claws were in him, she would never let go.
“You’re right, Dexx,” she whispered in his ear as she stroked his neck with her talented fingers, triggering the upward surge of his cock. “We have to get rid of Amy. I just wish we knew where she’s gone, or who might be helping her.”
His burgeoning erection made it difficult to think. The tip of Irene’s tongue flicked his ear for just a second, a light but very erotic touch. It might have been accidental, but, of course, it wasn’t. She was getting bolder all the time.
Soon he would give her exactly what she wanted. He’d throw her over the desk and screw her brains out. Then he’d leave her behind forever.
He was already making arrangements to sell Foxx Enterprises. Amy squealing to the Feds put a crimp in his style. It was time to start over—without Irene.
Amy awoke with a start, disoriented, not remembering for a moment where she was or what had happened. Then through the slits in the gauze she saw Matthew Jensen asleep in the chair beside her bed. In a dizzy rush everything came back to her.
Too vividly she recalled the blinding panic and hopeless frustration of reaching for Matt, attempting to communicate the only way she could. She had thought it was a lost cause, but somehow he’d sensed her distress and returned in time to save her.
Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.
He’d been holding her in his arms when he’d said those words. She marveled at the thought, acutely aware he was the only man who’d ever taken her into his arms. And it had felt so … right. So unbelievably right.
She allowed herself a rare moment of self-indulgence and closed her eyes, reliving the experience. At the time, she’d experienced a gut-wrenching sense of relief, knowing Matt had saved her from the nurse. Then, her body, exhausted from fighting, realized a man was holding her.
A dizzying current had raced through her, and instead of pain, she had been filled with an emotion too intense, too precious, to be reduced to a single word. A savage need had gripped her, the need to be held, the need to be comforted. The need to have someone care.
She had been alone in the world for so long. Her whole life, actually. Only her mother had been there. Now that she was gone, the world seemed empty and lonely.
In the corner of her mind she realized Matt had believed he was comforting Shelly, but at that moment she was beyond caring. As weak as it seemed to someone who had been content in her insular world, she needed this man.
Kicking herself for giving in to her emotions, she raised her eyelids. She’d softened, opening herself up more than she’d ever allowed. Yet, she couldn’t ignore the inexplicable sensations that made her feel alive with a wondrous sense of anticipation, a rare exhilaration that she had never before experienced.
“You’re asking for trouble,” whispered the ever-present little voice in her head as she gazed at Matt, who was still asleep in the chair beside her bed.
Evidently, he took his promise to help her seriously. He was in the same clothes, and whiskers shadowed his angular jaw. He hadn’t left her side, hadn’t taken the chance anything else would happen to her.
She was so touched that tears pricked at her eyes, then crested, dampening her lashes. “He didn’t do it for Amy Conroy. He did it for Shelly Ralston.”
Still, she knew she would remember being in his arms—forever. His chest had been so sturdy and warm, his arms strong yet gentle. He’d held her so close that she’d felt the rapid thud-thud of his heart against her breast.
Her body ached with the all-consuming need to be in his arms again. He’d been so gentle with her, and the feeling of tenderness lingered. Haunted.
Most women took a man’s embrace for granted, but she knew better. She had plenty of experience with the bone-deep despair of being one of life’s untouchables. The Beast. She shuddered inwardly, recalling years upon years of being alone and telling herself that she didn’t mind. No wonder she remembered being in his arms with a surge of longing so intense, it bordered on physical pain.
When she took his hand again and explained who she was, he’d have no reason to stay. As he slept, she studied the masculine planes of his face, tempered by a sensual mouth and long, thick black eyelashes. He projected nonchalance that bordered on arrogance, but on another level lurked a compassionate, caring man.
What would it be like to have him kiss her?
“Stop it!” cried the voice in her head. “Your life is in danger. Don’t daydream about Matt. Start thinking of a way to protect yourself.”
If she revealed who she was, it might appear in the paper, or even on television. The moment Dexxter found out, he would have her killed. But what if she didn’t confess? It would buy her time to come up with a plan.
She wouldn’t have much time. When the bandages were removed, Matt would see enough of her face to realize that she was not the woman he loved.
Her stomach churned with anxiety and frustration as she recalled Matt discussing her injuries. Apparently, the hideous birthmark wasn’t enough. Fate cursed her yet again. Her face needed reconstructive surgery, but she didn’t have a penny to her name and had no hope of earning money until her injuries healed.
Matt’s eyes drifted open, and he straightened up. “Are you okay?”
She managed a slight nod, thinking the brooding intensity of his gaze was enough to take any woman’s breath away. Just looking at him sent a rush of longing through her aching body.
“Remember, don’t move your head.”
He leaned toward her and inspected her left hand. She’d forgotten all about the wound she’d caused when she’d swung at that creep and ripped out the IV shunt. It had been bandaged and a new IV inserted in another vein.
“Don’t worry about the nurse. He’s been arrested.” His eyes were a tawny shade of brown in the morning light and seemed less intense than they had yesterday. “After they medicated you last night, the doctor examined you. Apparently, all the jerk did was touch you.”
She was shocked at the impact of his words and could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She told herself not to be embarrassed. After all, Matt thought he was discussing this with someone he knew quite well. He didn’t realize she was a virgin, or have any idea how panic-stricken she’d be
en not knowing what that creep had done to her when she’d been unconscious.
“You’re going to—”
“Jensen, I heard what happened.” A policeman interrupted Matt, walking into the ICU in the khaki uniform of the tropics, starched shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with a badge gleaming on its breast pocket. “I was off duty, or I would have been the one to arrest the scumbag.”
She wasn’t certain how the policeman knew Matt and didn’t dwell on it. The man was going to question her. She mentally weighed her options, then rolled the dice. She would pretend to be Rochelle Ralston for as long as possible.
Matt introduced the police officer, but the name didn’t register. Her mind was too busy scrambling for a plausible way to dodge as many questions as she could.
“Forensics in Miami tell us that the other body is that of a woman,” the officer told Matt.
Of course the other body was a woman’s. It was Shelly’s body, and they could quickly confirm this—if they knew to check. Any minute they were going to ask her who the dead woman was.
“They’ve positively IDed the truck driver, but they aren’t sure if the woman was a hitchhiker he picked up or not. It’s possible she was in the car with your friend.”
“Shelly, did they tell you the details of the crash?” Matt asked. “Lift one finger for yes.”
She kept her hand still and prayed he’d give her enough information to conjure up a story they would believe.
“It was a head-on collision. Everyone was thrown from the vehicles. That saved your life and your dog’s. The others weren’t so lucky. They were ejected but landed close to the truck. It exploded, burning them to death.”
A twinge of guilt uncoiled in her chest as she thought of Shelly dying such a tragic death. Pretending to be the woman and allowing Matt to believe she was still alive was cruel. She started to reach for his hand and tell him the truth.
Dexxter Foxx’s smug face flashed across her mind.
