by Cathie Linz
“YOU’RE AWFULLY QUIET,” Courtney noted as Ryan ate his dinner in silence later that night. She’d changed out of her suit and heels into a pair of black leggings and an oversize turquoise T-shirt. Her feet were bare but her hair remained in its braid, although she had unpinned it from the bun on top of her head.
“Unlike Chatty Charlie, you mean?” Ryan growled.
She paused to frown at him, a piece of lettuce from her chefs salad poised on her fork. “What are you talking about?”
“Charles Zamika. The FBI guy you were flirting with earlier today. I thought you were supposed to be serious about Fred.”
“I am.”
“Then why were you flashing the green light at Zamika?”
“I was doing no such thing,” she denied. “We were merely making polite conversation.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “And the Columbia River is just a tiny little stream.”
“Careful, your eyes are turning green.”
“It’s from having to eat all these peanut-butterand-jelly sandwiches.” He dolefully stared down at the food on his plate.
She refused to feel sorry for him. Because if she gave an inch, she knew she’d be cooking three-course meals. She had to ruthlessly squelch any hint of her desire to pamper him. She had to be tough. Besides, she wouldn’t put it past Ryan to feign hunger to gain her sympathy. She, however, was willing to play along with his pretense in order to get in a few jabs of her own. “I can’t help it if that’s the best your employer can do for you. He’s the one who said you’d supply your own food.”
“He hates me,” Ryan noted glumly.
“You have that effect on some people.”
“Very funny.”
“Agent Zamika didn’t appear to like you much, either,” she took great pleasure in informing him.
“The feeling is mutual. Who was that woman in the bank this morning?”
Courtney blinked at his abrupt question. “Excuse me?”
“The old woman in the pink jogging suit. The two of you were talking up a storm.”
“We were discussing the stupidity of men.”
He grinned, but his gaze was penetrating, digging for the truth. “Why don’t I believe that?”
Trying to be helpful, Courtney came up with what she thought was a viable reply. “Because you have a distrustful nature?”
Ryan absently rubbed his chin while frowning in concentration. “She looked familiar to me somehow.”
Courtney shifted uncomfortably. Anton’s disguise had been so good that even she hadn’t recognized him, so how could Ryan? He had to be making a stab in the dark here. The secret was not to react.
“I’ve got some fudge ripple ice cream in the freezer.” She deliberately made her voice cheerful and carefree. “Want some?”
“I want your uncle back in protective custody.”
Now Courtney was the one who was silent Her first loyalty was to her uncle. If he didn’t think he’d be safe in custody, then her hands were tied. She couldn’t betray his trust.
Feeling edgy, she fired up her hot-air popcorn maker. Minutes later she grabbed the bowl of hot buttered popcorn and headed for the living room and her VCR.
“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” she stated. “I need to watch something soothing.” After sticking a video into the machine, she plunked down on the couch.
“Only you would think that cartoons are soothing.” He grinned as he sat beside her.
Grabbing a big pillow to sit on, she slithered onto the floor from the couch, not trusting herself to be that close to him. Ryan was unfazed by her departure. Instead he scooted over so that he sat directly behind her, his legs bracketed around her like muscular bookends.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d sat this way when they’d been together. In those days she’d rest her cheek against his knee and curl her arms around his powerful thighs. Not that she’d ever been docile.
The chemistry had always been volatile between them, creating arguments the way hot summer nights created storms. But they’d soon passed, often with Ryan teasingly telling her that she was entitled to her own opinion…even if it was wrong.
Sometimes she suspected he just liked provoking her because he enjoyed their making up so much. But it was also true that they were two very different personalities. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve in those days, while he’d hidden his emotions beneath an endearing but nonetheless impenetrable layer of humor.
“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re so uptight you’re about ready to crack.”
His hands lighted on her shoulders with familiarity. He kept up a steady flow of conversation, but nothing that required her participation. She just had to sit there and enjoy—enjoy the brush of his thumb against her nape, the slide of his fingers against the tight tendons of her neck. He’d always had an incredible talent for finding that one spot that was knotted with tension.
“I’m telling you, I had the worst clothes in that sting operation,” Ryan was saying in a low voice laced with amusement. “Even worse than that time I had to dress like a psychedelic golfer. Neon checked pants. Bright purple shirt. But dressing up as the mascot for the Seattle Seahawks was the worst. The good news was the operation worked. We conned a dozen federal felons into showing up at our bogus headquarters to pick up the season tickets they’d supposedly won. Along with a free trip to the Superbowl. Instead they ended up with a free trip back to the penitentiary.”
“So what you’re telling me is that basically all you marshals do is dress up in funny clothing, huh?”
“You betcha,” he cheerfully agreed.
There it was, that way he had of blindsiding her. She’d expected him to take offense, almost wanted him to so that this closeness wouldn’t keep tugging her in.
“In that case, I can see why you’d want the job,” she said.
“I wanted the job because I like chasing bad guys and keeping the peace. Even as a kid, I was the peacemaker in my family.”
“You never told me that before.”
“You left before I had the chance.”
Was that true? Would he have explained his actions to her had she stayed? “It’s not like I left without giving you the opportunity to talk to me.”
“We were both pretty angry by then. Could be that we both made a few mistakes.”
Having said that, Ryan proceeded to undo her braid and comb his fingers through her long hair. She wanted to believe him, wanted to think that he was willing to acknowledge that he’d been wrong to do what he’d done. But there was so much at stake.
On the TV screen one cartoon ran into the next, Mr. Magoo morphing into the Pink Panther and then the Road Runner, while Ryan simply continued threading his warm fingers through her hair until she was lost in the magic of the good things they had together, not the least of which was this incredible sense of contentment at simply being together. She’d never felt that way before or since. As if he were her home.
But she couldn’t trust Ryan’s motives, not with him after her uncle. He could just be telling her what she wanted to hear so that she’d be more cooperative in his quest to capture her uncle. No, she couldn’t trust him and she couldn’t trust herself around him. Not yet.
As if on cue, the videotape ran out. Scrambling to her feet, she winced as one of them tingled from almost falling asleep. “It’s getting late.” She grabbed her empty popcorn bowl and headed for the kitchen.
Courtney was standing in front of the sink, wiping down the counter, when she heard the loud crash.
7
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Ryan demanded, rushing to the kitchen doorway.
“It wasn’t me,” Courtney hurriedly assured him. “It sounded like it came from downstairs. Jeez, I’ve heard Red cooking up a storm downstairs before, but never that loud. I must have jumped a foot just now. It sounded like broken glass.”
Instead of answering, Ryan reached for his gun before barking out an order. “Get in the bathroom. Now. Lock the do
or behind you. If I’m not back in five minutes—” he tossed her the cellular phone from his pocket “—call the police.”
“Where are you going?”
“Downstairs to check things out. Now get in the bathroom. Come on, get moving.” He helped her on her way by hustling her down the hallway. This was the first time she’d seen him with his gun drawn. It should have scared her witless and it did. But there was simply no excuse for the excitement zipping through her entire body.
Okay, so he had his hand on her arm, but even that shouldn’t have brought out this breathless thrill. Courtney chalked the reaction up to her wild side, the one she was trying get rid of. That’s what was making her fantasize about ravishing Ryan right there and then.
She slammed the door on her thoughts as she slammed the bathroom door. She must still be a little jittery from the attempted robbery earlier in the afternoon. That had to be why she was susceptible to wild fantasies about Ryan.
She prayed that the noise actually was caused by her neighbor. Maybe Red had broken a tray full of glasses. That’s what it had sounded like—a lot of glass breaking.
Granted it was a little late to be cooking, after ten, but Red wasn’t one to keep to a traditional schedule.
Flipping down the toilet seat lid, Courtney tried to make herself comfortable. Her thoughts kept returning to Ryan’s earlier words, before he’d turned all bossy and shoved her into the bathroom. Could be that we both made a few mistakes. Had he been sincere? Could she afford to let herself believe in him again? Could she afford not to?
BRUTUS HADN’T volunteered for this job, but after Jimbo had botched up his assignment at the bank, he had no choice but to do this himself. He’d done his legwork ahead of time. He’d double-checked the address to make sure he had the right place, checking it against the printout from the Department of Motor Vehicles records. And he’d waited until the lights in the apartment had gone out, then waited another hour just to be safe.
He’d carefully used a glass cutter, but that had taken forever, so he’d ended up using a crowbar to smash in the window. Just get in, grab the girl and get out. Fast.
The moment he entered the darkened room, he heard a man roar, “Brutus!”
Startled, Brutus turned. “What? Who’s there?”
The answer came in the form of action rather than words. He didn’t register the growl until too late. By then the vicious dog had leapt onto him, digging its teeth into Brutus’s butt.
At first he thought it must be a Doberman, but the thing was smaller, its teeth sharper.
“Get him, Brutus, get him!”
The dog growled in response.
Howling, Brutus leapt back out the bedroom window with the vicious little mutt still attached to his backside.
RYAN HEARD THE howling as he approached the downstairs apartment. When the door was yanked open, he raised his gun…right in Red’s direction.
“Man, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” the startled biker declared.
Swearing under his breath, Ryan lowered his weapon. “What’s going on?”
“Some idiot tried to break into my place. There you are.” Red’s voice changed drastically as he sweetly murmured, “Come to Poppa.”
Ryan blinked and took a wary step back, wondering if the guy had gone off the deep end before noticing the little runt of a mutt at their feet.
Red picked up a little fuzzball in his arms. “My guard dog here got a piece of the robber’s hind end. Good job, Brutus. Good dog.”
Guard dog? Ryan had seen steaks that were bigger. “Yeah, well, did you get a look at the guy?”
“You bet. And you know, the strange thing was the guy turned around and said ‘What’ when I sicced Brutus on him.”
“He turned around when you said ‘Brutus’?”
“Yeah. Weird, huh?”
Not so weird. So Brutus Zopo had decided to come after Courtney himself rather than send one of his inept lackeys to do it.
Which meant they knew where she lived. Or close enough. Ryan remembered her telling him that she hadn’t changed her driver’s license records to reflect her move to the apartment upstairs.
Ryan had to get her someplace safe.
“I THOUGHT YOU were never coming back!” Courtney exclaimed the instant Ryan knocked on the bathroom door and gave her the all clear. “What happened down there? I heard howling. Was it Red?”
“No, it was Brutus.”
“Red’s dog?” Courtney knew how attached Red was to his pet. “The poor little thing. What was wrong with it?”
“Nothing. But I’m talking about Brutus Zopo. The Zopos have located you. Start packing.”
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Start packing.”
“Why?”
“Because I plan on taking you someplace safe.”
“And where would that be?”
“Why the twenty questions?” he retorted in exasperation. “Can’t you just once say, ‘Fine, Ryan I’ll do whatever you say’?”
“Not in this lifetime,” she replied sweetly.
“A man can dream, can’t he?” Ryan sighed and got this long-suffering look on his face. “Okay, let’s see if I can explain it to you slowly. The bad guys are after you to use you as leverage to get to your uncle. They’ve tracked you down, and broken into your apartment building in a thwarted attempt to snatch you. I suspect that the botched robbery attempt at the bank this afternoon was another of their plans to kidnap you gone awry. Neither of these two occurrences are a good thing. Are you with me so far?”
She smacked his arm, infuriated by his deliberately condescending tone. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“This is ridiculous.” Grabbing her in his arms, Ryan kissed her with a forcefulness that reflected his frustration, his hunger and his fears. Courtney returned his kiss with a passion that reflected her inability to hold back. His arms encircled her, his fingers caressing the small of her back, sliding beneath the waistband of her black leggings to tantalize her with the promise of further intimacies.
When the need for oxygen finally made him lift his mouth from hers, she got the strength to put some distance between them. Glaring at him, she said, “If you think you can kiss me into submission…”
“Yes?”
Her glare dissolved into a grin. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“No.” She had to laugh at the way his adorable jaw dropped. “I just wanted to throw you for a loop.”
“Honey, you’ve done that since the first moment I met you on that riverboat casino,” he drawled.
His rueful look was laced with lingering heat. She could still taste him on her lips. Now she could feel his gaze on her as he slowly explored her body, the path of his eyes over her body leaving a sizzling trail of excitement
Things were getting too hot, she thought while fanning her flushed cheeks with one hand. Catching the gleam of satisfaction in his lopsided smile, she dropped her hand to wrap her arms around her middle in an attempt to shield her reaction from him. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“No. You’ll find out soon enough. Now go pack and be quick about it.”
“Do you order all your prisoners around like this?”
“You bet. I also handcuff them.”
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned him. “Get that look right off your face.”
Ryan blinked with feigned innocence. “What look?”
“The one where you’re imagining me handcuffed, to a bedpost, no doubt.” She shot him a wry glance. “You think I can’t read you like a book?”
“I think you’re stalling,” he noted, eyes narrowing. “Why is that? You don’t think the danger is real?”
“No, it’s not that.” She was wondering how she’d let Anton know where she’d be, that’s why she was
hesitating. How would her uncle find her if Ryan whisked her away without saying a word? She couldn’t exactly leave him a note. “What about my job?”
“I’ll call Fred and have him give you a few days off.”
Her alarm grew. “I can’t afford to take that much time off. I don’t have any vacation time coming for another eight months.”
“You can’t afford to stay here. Now stop arguing. Unless you want me to pack for you?”
The idea of him going through her underwear and nightie drawer made her palms go sweaty and her heartbeat go bananas. Jeez, she was acting like a teenager here. She had to get her act together.
Ryan was right, the danger was real. Not only from the Zopo brothers but also from Ryan himself, at least as far as her heart was concerned. She was falling for him all over again. For his lopsided grin, for the simple pleasure of his company, for the way he made her feel so alive, for the way he stubbornly kept after her to be herself, for the way he was trying to protect her and keep her safe from harm.
But his keeping her safe from harm was putting her in danger of having her heart broken again. It was safer to keep her distance. Her head knew that. Now if only her blasted body would cooperate.
“ARE WE LOST?” she demanded three hours later. She was seated beside him in his nondescript sedan, the lights from the instrument panel creating a green glow in the otherwise dark interior. Since they’d left her apartment, Ryan had been quiet and so had she. Until now. “Tell me we’re not lost. It feels like we’ve been going around in circles for ages.”
“We have.”
“Great.” Her voice was glum. “And I suppose you’re going to pull that guy stuff and refuse to ask for directions. Am I right?”
“I don’t need to ask for directions, because we’re not lost,” he stated confidently.
“Of course not.” Now her inflection was mocking. “You meant for us to be going in circles.”
