Too Stubborn To Marry

by Cathie Linz

  “I certainly did.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “In case anyone was following us.”

  She craned her head to nervously look out the back window. “You think they are?”

  “No. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “If you liked playing it safe you wouldn’t be doing such dangerous work,” Courtney retorted. “Most people see trouble, they head in the opposite direction. But you, you run right into it.”

  “It’s my—”

  She interrupted him. “Your job. I know. I’m trying to figure out why it’s your job. What appeal it has for you.”

  “You could have asked this three years ago.”

  “You could have told me.”

  In the faint light caused by a passing car she saw him nod. Was it his way of acknowledging that he’d made mistakes in their relationship in the past? All he said was, “I’m good at what I do.”

  “You’re good at a lot of things.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

  “Oh, yeah?” She could feel the speculative look he shot her way. “Like what?”

  “Like driving me crazy. Now talk.”

  “You first How exactly do I drive you crazy?”

  “Well, hustling me off to an unknown destination is a pretty good start.”

  “If you must know, we’re headed for the coast It’s for your own protection.”

  “And that’s another thing. This attitude you have that you always know best.”

  “That’s because I do,” he said calmly.

  “Hah!” She shoved a strand of her long hair behind one ear. “I’ll have you know I got along just fine for the past three years.”

  “Just fine if you consider beige to be your favorite color and bland your favorite flavor.”

  She was infuriated by his words and his attitude. “You’re just upset that I’ve made a good life in Fell without you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And there’s no way that a life with Fred the Friendly Banker in it could be a good one.”

  “He cares for me more than you do.”

  “He cares for his bank more than he cares for anything. Did you see the guy panic when the FBI came in? He was practically reeling from the threat to his bank’s reputation.”

  Automatically she leapt to Fred’s defense. “Any responsible banker would be upset after an attempted burglary.”

  “I didn’t see him checking up on you.”

  Courtney had noticed that omission herself and she certainly didn’t appreciate Ryan pointing it out to her.

  “Instead he seemed protective of his computer and his office, making sure no one touched either one of them. Makes me wonder what the guy is hiding.” Ryan’s voice sounded reflective.

  “You think everyone is hiding something,” she scoffed.

  “Because they usually are.”

  “In that case, what are you hiding?”

  “You,” he immediately answered. “From the bad guys. Remember?”

  “How could I forget when I’m having such a good time?” She stared out the windshield at their car’s headlights bouncing off the pavement, the yellow dotted lines streaking past them with monotonous regularity. “I have to tell you that I’ve always longed to go aimlessly driving around in circles all night. It’s been a lifetime goal of mine.”

  “Then I’m glad to have helped you accomplish it.” He was unfazed by her sarcasm. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” she muttered, shifting in her seat. “You can find a rest stop or gas station because I need to use the bathroom.”

  “I told you to go before we left your place,” he grumbled with typical male impatience.

  “I did. That was hours ago.”

  “Great.”

  “Hey, I’m not real thrilled about it myself. The sanitary conditions in those places is hardly anything to write home about.”

  “I’ll stop at the next town,” he said.

  She wasn’t encouraged by that promise. “Do you even know where the next town is?”

  “Of course I do.”

  To give him credit, Ryan found a gas station within fifteen minutes. Then they were back on the road again, backtracking and retracing their route. Meanwhile Courtney was digging into the cooler she’d brought along from her apartment and stuck in the back seat. Perched on her knees on the front seat, her fanny wiggled as she reached into the far corner to get what she was looking for.

  “What are you doing now?” Ryan demanded, a thread of male agitation in his voice. “Nothing.” Settling back in her seat, she refastened her seat belt. Munching on her midnight snack, she added, “You know, you still haven’t told me why you decided to become a deputy marshal.”

  But Ryan had bigger fish to fry. “What are you eating?”

  “A ham-and-cheese sandwich.”

  “You had time to make sandwiches before we left? Why didn’t you say so?” He sounded outraged by her omission.

  “Because you didn’t ask me.” She tossed his words back at him. “What did you think I had in that cooler?”

  “I don’t know. More of that health stuff that you picked up at the market the other day. Do you have another sandwich in there?”

  “Sure do. Bean sprouts and tofu. Want it?”

  Even in the dim illumination of the car’s dashboard lights she could still see him grimace. “You shouldn’t screw up your face like that,” she couldn’t resist chastising him. “It might stay that way and then where would you be?”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “How are your parents?” She’d met them several times and had liked them immensely.

  “They’re doing fine.” Having said that, Ryan immediately returned to the subject of food. “Were you kidding or is bean sprouts and tofu really all you’ve got left in that cooler?”

  “Well…” She drew out the suspense before confessing, “I do have a roast beef sandwich.”

  “Great. I’ll have that.”

  “How are you going to eat while you drive?”

  Ryan could have told her that he’d had lots of practice. But that would waste an opportunity to have her closer to him and he wasn’t about to let that happen. For the past ten minutes she’d been taunting him with her wiggling fanny in those form-fitting jeans she’d changed into for traveling. It might be dark in the car, but he wasn’t blind. He could feel her movements, could feel his body tightening in response. She was doing it deliberately. He just knew it. So he’d take a page out of her book and taunt her for a change.

  That fiery kiss they’d shared at her apartment still sizzled in his veins. He was getting to her. It was only a matter of time, and of proximity. Ryan aimed on making the most of both. “You can feed me.”

  “I can? How kind of you.”

  “I thought so,” he declared virtuously.

  At the first brush of his mouth against her fingers, Courtney knew she was playing with fire. But she couldn’t seem to find the energy to care. Enveloped in darkness as they were in the car’s interior, a cocoon of intimacy formed between them. The hum of the sedan’s engine mingled with the soft sound of a jazz station playing on the radio.

  Each time Ryan took a bite of his sandwich, he took a bite out of her self-restraint. It was all too easy to let her fingers linger on his lips. All too easy to brush her shoulder against his as she leaned closer to feed him the next bite.

  His refusal to talk about his work and his reasons for choosing it should have been a sore spot for her. It served as a reminder that Ryan hadn’t changed in the past three years. He still found it hard to share his inner thoughts.

  How could she let herself love him again when he didn’t trust her enough to talk about his emotions? Feeling her resolve in danger of melting altogether, she stuffed the remainder of the sandwich in his mouth and scooted back to her own corner of the front seat.

  “Whamaya?” he mumbled around a sizable chunk of bread and roast beef.

  “Y
ou shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” she primly informed him.

  When Ryan finally swallowed, he said, “And you shouldn’t stuff half a sandwich in my mouth. What did you do that for?”

  “For the heck of it. For the same reason you seem to have become a deputy.”

  “So we’re back to that are we?”

  “Forget it.” Kneeling on the front seat, she reached back into the cooler for a can of root beer, careful to keep her distance from Ryan.

  “I’d like to forget it, but you keep harping on it. You didn’t ask that FBI agent why he joined the agency.”

  “That’s because I don’t care—” Courtney stopped the instant she realized what she’d been about to reveal.

  “Meaning you do care about me,” he completed, sounding altogether too darn smug about it.

  “Meaning I care about my uncle’s safety. And if staying with you a few more days will ensure that…”

  Ryan interrupted her. “The only way of ensuring your uncle’s safety is for him to turn himself in. It’s not too late.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” She took a sip of root beer before adding, “I’ve heard you’re like flypaper.”

  “How would you know that?” Ryan’s voice was quiet.

  Too late she remembered that Anton had been the one who had told her. “Someone mentioned it.” Her reply was offhand, but his persistence was immediate.

  “Someone who?”

  “I don’t remember. Your boss, I suppose.”

  “He doesn’t know about that nickname. In fact, the last time someone called me that was when your uncle was with me.”

  Courtney tried not to let her panic show. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill here.”

  “Am I?” His voice remained calm as he added, “So how did your uncle like dressing up as a woman?”

  Startled, Courtney choked on her root beer. The carbonated bubbles went up her nose as she coughed and sputtered.

  Ryan swore succinctly. “I knew it. I knew that woman at the bank looked familiar.”

  Courtney lifted her chin a notch or two. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the act. I know that was your uncle at the bank.”

  “You’ve got a vivid imagination.”

  “I should have realized it earlier,” Ryan muttered to himself. “With his dramatic training, Anton would be great at disguising his appearance. I just hadn’t expected him to go to such extremes. I should have. I mean this is the maniac who climbed out of a window no sane person would have attempted.”

  “My uncle is not a maniac!”

  “And then there’s you.” Ryan shot her a look that made her shiver in her seat. “Trying to seduce me to distract me from my work.”

  “What?” Her voice could have scalded the paint right off the car’s exterior. “Listen, buddy, if there’s any seducing going on, you’re the one who’s been doing it. You’re the one who’s kissing me every two minutes.”

  “You wish.”

  She saw red. “I wish you hadn’t barged back into my life. I wish you’d left me alone!” she shouted at him.

  “I didn’t ask for this job, I can tell you that,” he shouted back at her. “I tried to get out of it.”

  She’d suspected as much, but his words still were like a slap in the face.

  “Damn, that didn’t come out right,” Ryan muttered.

  Clamping her teeth down on her bottom lip to prevent more angry comments from tumbling forth, Courtney refused to say another word for the remainder of the trip. Clouds scuttled across the moon, further limiting visibility.

  Another hour went by. She could tell that much because of the digital readout on the dashboard. The jazz program on public radio had been replaced with classical music as Dvořák’s symphony From the New World filled the silence.

  The last time Courtney had heard this music, she’d made dinner for Anton and they’d spent the evening reminiscing. She prayed he was safe.

  When Ryan finally pulled the car to a stop, the uncharacteristic hesitancy of his voice immediately captured her attention. “We’re here. But before we go in…uh…I guess there’s something I should…warn you about the place.”

  8

  COURTNEY SQUINTED through the windshield in the pale moonlight, trying to make out the shape of the building just up the driveway. “Warn me about what? Where are we?” Rolling down the passenger window, she could hear the crashing surf of the ocean and smell the salty air.

  “We’re on the coast,” Ryan replied shifting in his seat. “A ways outside of Newport. The house belongs to a buddy of mine.”

  “Does it have indoor plumbing?” she asked suspiciously, trying to pinpoint the reason for Ryan’s discomfort.

  “Yes. It’s just that he has sort of strange decorating tastes.”

  “So what? I’m hardly Martha Stewart,” she retorted. “Besides, I don’t aim on being here very long.”

  “It shouldn’t take the authorities long to track down Brutus Zopo,” Ryan told her. “His brother is implicated as well—he appears to have been driving the getaway car. I checked that out while you were packing. We have another witness who described the car, and your neighbor can identify Brutus. I figure it’s a matter of hours, twenty-four maybe, forty-eight tops.”

  “Seems a long way to come for twenty-four hours,” she murmured getting out of the car with eagerness. She was sick and tired of driving around in circles.

  Holding the car door open for her, Ryan lifted one eyebrow. “You want to stay here longer?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I didn’t think so.” As he inclined his head toward the house, his brown hair fell over his forehead. It was all she could do not to reach out and brush the rebellious strands back into place. “So, are you ready to face Dean’s Lair?” he added.

  “That’s really what he calls this place?” She laughed nervously, joining him on the front porch. Constructed out of weathered wood that had turned silvery in the salty air, the place seemed to sprawl out in various levels and directions. “What is it, a bachelor pad from the seventies? James Bond meets Steve Martin?”

  “Something like that. He hides the key here…”

  She squinted and then blinked. “That’s a statue—”

  “Of a woman’s breast Yes, I know. It’s also the doorbell, but if you press the side just right…”

  She watched his fingers skimming over the pale marble surface and was struck with the memory of his hands on her own bare skin. His fingers were a reflection of the man, rugged and powerful, nothing delicate or dainty about him.

  “Aha.” A hidden compartment popped out of the smooth marble, disturbing its perfect symmetry. Inside was the key.

  “That’s impressive,” she had to admit.

  “You should see the andirons in the fireplace. Done by the same artist.”

  It was the first thing she saw when she entered the house. Moonlight shot through the skylight, lighting their way to the huge natural stone fireplace against the entire left wall. Not only were the andirons a pair of women’s legs, they were life-size versions, their pointed toes aimed toward the carved wooden mantel. Above the mantel was a huge fishnet complete with a colorful wooden mermaid figurehead, like those that used to grace the bow of a large ship.

  “So far I’d say this place is more Pablo Picasso than Steve Martin,” she proclaimed wryly.

  “You haven’t seen the bedroom yet.”

  There was only one, and that was enough. Everything was done in leopard print. The bedspread, the draperies, even the carpeting. Three walls and the ceiling were mirrored, while a black marble fireplace with a pair of leopard andirons took up the far wall.

  “Cool,” she murmured, peering out the windows.

  “You really think so?”

  “Sure.” She opened the heavy curtains to show the breathtaking ocean view. White-crested waves broke onto a seemingly endless expanse of beach, all bathed in moonlight, which was
reflected back in the mirrored walls. “Pretty incredible, huh?”

  Ryan nodded, but it wasn’t the view he was admiring, it was her. After packing at the apartment, she’d changed into jeans and a white T-shirt. The denim lovingly clung to her bottom. Because the night was cool, she’d tossed on a black leather jacket that was too big for her and looked like it might have been a hand-me-down from Red. The end result was a bad-girl look that made his blood run hot.

  Her hair was loose and wavy as it cascaded over the leather like a waterfall of gold silk. He remembered threading his fingers through it earlier that night, when she’d sat on the floor at his feet Touching her then had been part heaven part hell. He’d wanted to do more than just give her a neck rub. He’d wanted to tumble her onto the carpet and make her his. The way she had been before. When they’d been together. Cleaved to him, naked flesh to naked flesh.

  Because no other woman had ever made him feel complete the way she did. He could only hope that once this mess with her uncle was straightened out maybe they could start over again. If she trusted him again. If she didn’t hold a grudge against him for bringing in her uncle. Pretty big ifs. Things would be so much easier if she’d just cooperate.

  But then nothing about Courtney had ever been easy.

  “Take a look at this.” Her excited voice broke into his thoughts. He tracked her into the bathroom opening off the master bedroom.

  “Wow!” When Ryan joined her, she made no effort to hide her awe. The bathroom was bigger than her present living room and bedroom combined. A mural was painted on the walls, depicting life in ancient Rome.

  Well, now that she looked closer she realized it wasn’t exactly a depiction of everyday life. It was an orgy. She blinked at the entwined couple in the corner before noting, “I’m not sure that’s anatomically possible.”

  Ryan’s muffled chuckle made her spin around. Was he laughing at her? “What?”

  “It’s just that you sound like your old self.”

  His warm words stole into her heart. She had to stay tough. So she used humor to keep her distance. “How kind of you to call me old.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”