Live a Little!

by Nancy Warren

  She drank hot tea seriously doctored with rum while Jake stalked up and down. It was three in the morning, but sleep was out of the question.

  In fact, the more he ranted, the more she started to feel her own anger bubble, until she snapped, “What’s the point in me working there if you won’t let me do anything but reconcile invoices?”

  “You’re supposed to study the books, find discrepancies in the accounting. You—”

  “The books are clean, Jake. I’ve told you that. There has to be another set somewhere. But I don’t know where. If we found drugs we could—”

  “We don’t search for drugs.” His face burned a deep red as he stomped forward and brought it mere inches from her own. Only stubborn pride stopped her from jerking backward. “I search for drugs. You stay in the office and keep your nose clean.” Only the sound of true worry in his tone stopped her from blasting off at him.

  Her attention also snagged on something else that bothered her. What was wrong with this picture? Something niggled in the back of her brain, something that had hovered at the edge of her consciousness for weeks. Suddenly it hit her. He always talked in the singular, and she’d never seen any other FBI personnel in his vicinity. Something was very odd here.

  Watching him intently, she said, “I thought the FBI always worked in teams.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You. You said ‘I search for drugs, I do this job.’ On TV agents always work in pairs, or teams.”

  His complexion deepened a shade and he glanced away. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV.”

  She might be an amateur, but she wasn’t stupid. She could tell he was hiding something. “So, you work all by yourself?”

  He was out of her face in a heartbeat, taking a sudden interest in a spot on his thumb. “That’s classified.”

  She let a second or two tick by. “Maybe I should phone the FBI and ask to speak to your boss. She could tell me.”

  “He,” Jake answered automatically, then his head shot up. “Don’t you even think about calling.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  “I’m a taxpayer. Of course it’s my business.”

  He grimaced. “Let it go, Cyn.”

  She shook her head. “Not a chance.”

  There was a long silence. “Who are you going to talk to at three in the morning?”

  “I’ll leave a message.” She rose and went to the kitchen to fetch her telephone book. Returning, she made a show of flipping it open to the Fs. She shot a glance at Jake under her lashes to make certain she had his attention.

  He glared at her.

  “Let’s see, Farnsworth, Finkleman…oops, too far…”

  He made a sound like a man goaded to the end of his sanity. “I’m on holiday.”

  She stared at Finkleman’s phone number while the quiet words sank in.

  The book crashed to the floor. “What?”

  She’d never seen Jake Wheeler lose control in the slightest—well, except in bed, which was not something she wanted to think about at the moment. Right now, he looked like a man losing control of a situation he thought he’d had nailed. He paced, dragging a hand through his hair till it stood out in charcoal tufts. “Sort of a holiday.”

  “Holiday means playing golf, fishing, scuba diving. Lazing in a hammock composing your memoirs. Holiday does not mean working on a case. I don’t believe you.” She bent down, hauled the bulky telephone book back up and plopped herself on the couch, letting him see she meant business.

  He walked slowly over and sank down beside her. “Okay, it’s not a holiday, exactly. I’m on stress leave.”

  “Stress leave?” Oh, man, could she pick ‘em. First Walter, the tightwad with no sex drive; now Jake, who had a sex overdrive, but was either a rogue agent or a lunatic. She dropped her head into her hands. “Why me?” she moaned to no one in particular.

  He rested a hand, warm and heavy, on her ankle, where it lay beside him on the couch. Even as mad as she was, that connection reminded her that whatever kind of nutcase he was, at least he was a great lover. And she trusted him.

  It shocked her as the thought occurred, but it was true. She did trust him. Enough to abandon a long-term job and throw her future into jeopardy, although she was beginning to wonder how much jeopardy there really was. Maybe he’d hallucinated the whole smuggling thing. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with a rich fantasy life.

  Still, even if he was crazy, he’d made the past few weeks more fun and exciting than any she’d ever known. She still tingled when she thought about the awful, terrifying climb up and over that fence. She tingled even more when she remembered the blazing heat that had consumed them both as they made love in the warehouse, not fifty feet from armed guards. In fact, she was getting warm all over again just thinking about it.

  She turned to gaze into his smoky-blue eyes and felt even hotter. They’d been in danger tonight. They could have been caught. She was as nutty as he was, she knew, but the very thought of danger had her wanting to strip that sexy FBI agent naked and have her way with him.

  “I guess I’d better explain,” he said in a voice that sounded like he’d rather chew broken glass.

  “All right.” She didn’t really want talk, not when she was feeling like this, but she could see he wanted to tell her something, and since he wasn’t normally a big communicator, she decided she’d better listen.

  “One of our agents was killed,” he said at last, his words dousing her heat like a jug of ice water.

  “Killed?”

  “He’d crewed on to a fishing boat we suspected was smuggling cocaine.” Jake drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, while she stared at him. “Hank and I started out together at Quantico. He was a good guy.”

  “What happened?”

  He jerked to his feet and stalked across the room. “They found him tangled in a fishing net, drowned. Looked like an accident.”

  Anger and disbelief were written all over his face. “You don’t think it was an accident.”

  “He wasn’t that stupid or that careless. He was murdered.”

  A chill skittered across her chest. “What’s Oceanic got to do with your friend?”

  “Maybe nothing.” He shrugged. “Accidents happen, even to guys in my line of work. But when I checked his apartment, I knew it was no accident.”

  “The place had been trashed?” She pictured how it would look: clothes strewn, belongings broken, the dead man’s home desecrated.

  “No. It was neat.”

  “Neat?” Oh, God. He really was a lunatic. Her love life was going to land her on one of those talk shows. Women who lust after psychos. That, or the comedy network.

  He walked across the room and straightened the Picasso print she’d hung on the claret-colored walls. She loved the vibrant drama of the skewed lines and the woman’s lopsided features, but she didn’t think Jake even noticed what was in the frame he’d mechanically straightened. “Too neat. Hank was a slob. But this place was clean. So clean the back of my neck prickled.”

  She was experiencing the same feeling on her own neck. “Maybe he had a neatnik girlfriend?”

  Jake nudged the right side of the print slightly. “I double-checked. He was single. No girlfriends, no cleaning service.”

  “I still don’t see how—”

  “I went back through his things one more time. That’s when I found the Oceanic business card.”

  This whole clandestine operation was being waged over a lone business card? “I have a purse full of Oceanic business cards. So what?”

  He abandoned the picture and resumed pacing. “You work there. But why would Hank have one? I found it in the lining of his duffel bag. And the bag was all neat and tidy, too.” He shot that statement at her as though she’d argued with him. “Socks rolled, everything in his wallet in perfect order. I’m telling you, somebody went through his stuff. But they missed the card because they didn’t
want to arouse suspicion by tearing the duffel bag to bits like I did.”

  Her stomach felt strange, as if she’d eaten a carton of jumping beans. “Was anything written on the card?”

  He shook his head. “He was a professional—he wouldn’t carry anything that couldn’t be explained away if he was caught. There could be a million reasons he’d have that card in his bag. Most of them innocent.”

  “But you don’t think it was innocent?”

  “I don’t know.” And she heard how much he hated the not knowing. “That business card is the only clue we’ve got. Officially, Hank’s death is being treated as an accident. We had some leads into a drug operation, but they’ve all dried up. My boss agrees with you that one business card isn’t grounds for an investigation into Oceanic.” Jake turned to her, his face grim. “Officially, I don’t have any support on this.”

  “And unofficially?”

  He gave a wry grin. “My stress leave could end at any time. We all want these guys, Cyn. If I can find hard evidence, Oceanic won’t know what hit them.”

  “That’s where I come in.” She felt in her bones that he was telling the truth; he was an agent, and there was a possibility she was the key to unlocking the entire drug-ring conspiracy. One man had already been killed. This wasn’t a game. It was dangerous work. Incredibly dangerous. And Jake had chosen her to help him. Even though it was the middle of the night, she’d never felt more awake. Or more alive.

  “Look, I think we should talk about that….” He turned to gaze at her, two lines of worry etched between his brows.

  She jumped up, knowing now that he was all alone in this investigation. He might not want to admit it, but he needed her. “Don’t fire me, Jake. I’m the only team you’ve got—and I’m on your side.” She was, too. They were a great team, both professionally and personally; he just hadn’t figured it out yet.

  He rubbed a hand over his face, and the pain he tried to hide almost broke her heart. “I was the one who recruited Hank for this job. I got him killed. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  “Of course you didn’t get him killed. He made his own choices, just like I did. And nothing’s going to happen to me. I won’t snoop anymore. I promise.” She went to him, reached out a hand to touch his arm.

  He pulled away. “It’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He started walking toward the door.

  “Don’t go.” Her heart ached for the grief she felt emanating from him. Grief he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, share. Even though he halted, he didn’t come back to her. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly, going to him once more. She wrapped her arms around his torso.

  He remained stiff and rigid in her arms. “I have to go.”

  “No, you don’t.” She cupped his cheek with her palm, rubbing the abrasive, shadowy stubble; his jaw was like iron, but as her thumb passed below it she felt a pulse jump in his neck.

  He needed her, and damn it, she needed him. That knowledge gave her the courage to rise on tiptoe and feather her lips over his. It felt like kissing a stone statue. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispered against his rigid lips.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” she said softly, and ran her tongue along his lower lip. It trembled. The stone beginning to crack. Tenderness washed over her as she felt his need for comfort breaking through the rigid control. How had she ever let this man frighten her? He was strong and noble, fighting for what was good in the world.

  “Stop it!”

  There was no bloody way Jake was going to let her do this to him. The fact that they’d found nothing suspicious tonight only added to the fury that had churned within him from the moment he heard about Hank. If he didn’t find some hard evidence soon, Hank’s death would stay unsolved, his killers free. Miss Fun and Games wasn’t turning this into Raunch scenario number fifty-three.

  “I can’t be some friggin’ magazine fantasy for you tonight. I’ll hurt you.” He grabbed her shoulders, knowing he should push her away, but loving the feel of her warm flesh in his hands.

  “No, you won’t.”

  He stared down at her. Her big green eyes were so wide and trusting. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing rapid—she was still high on the adrenaline reaction. But she didn’t know what he was capable of—that as much as he’d like to give her what she wanted, he might hurt her in the mood he was in.

  There was some powerful stuff sizzling in the atmosphere between them: anger, lust, guilt, need. He should go home and grab a cold shower while he still could. He made a move to pull away, but even as he tried to sever the warm connection, he found he couldn’t.

  He made a sound between a growl and an oath, and yanked her, not away from him, but toward him.

  His lips slammed down on hers like prison doors, trapping her in the angry passion that consumed him. He ravaged her mouth with need rather than tenderness, nipping at her lips, invading her mouth with his tongue, plundering her sweetness. Doing his best to warn her off, he grabbed her hips and ground himself against her so she could feel the strength of his arousal.

  And if she wanted to call a halt she’d better do it fast.

  Instead of pulling away from him, she seemed to match his mood, holding him tight and rubbing herself intimately against his erection.

  Now that he’d let himself go, he literally ached for her. “I need you,” he admitted on a groan.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t bother with any more talk, just picked her up bodily and carried her into the bedroom, where he tossed her on the bed, then went to work unbuckling his belt. Once more he warned her, “I can’t be a gentleman tonight.”

  “I know.” The emotions running in him were explosive, and he needed to bury himself in her soft heat as much as he needed to drag in the next ragged breath.

  He watched her, his innocent vixen, as her trembling fingers reached for the buttons of her blouse.

  “Forget it. Get your panties off.”

  He thought she might refuse, tell him to go to hell. Instead she whimpered, deep in her throat. Her eyes held his gaze as she reached under her skirt, raised her hips and dragged the torn panty hose and thong off in one bone-meltingly sexy motion.

  His black denims flew across the room and then he was on top of her. “You make me crazy,” he muttered, grabbing her knees and pushing them up against her chest, so her skirt caught between her hips and waist. Then he plunged into her and couldn’t think anymore. He could only feel.

  It was like diving into molten honey. Slick, hot and tight. He thrust savagely into her, as though he could drive his demons out where they’d perish in her sweetness.

  He kissed her, a deep, devastating kiss that left him longing for more. He couldn’t get close enough, thrust deep enough….

  Beneath him, her body was going crazy, rocking up against him to take him even deeper, getting hotter and slicker by the second.

  She offered up everything she had. Giving him comfort in her body, kissing his hurts better every time their mouths met, stroking, touching him everywhere as they pushed each other higher.

  She cried out, her body arching against him, her head thrashing on the pillow, and he was gone, swirling into the black current that sucked him into its depths.

  And something amazing happened. As his release flowed into her body, as he stared down at her heaving chest, still clothed because he’d been in too much of a hurry to undress her, he felt some of his anger dissipate. Gently, he kissed her lips in gratitude, and a feeling of tenderness washed through him. She seemed so fragile, but she wasn’t. She was strong and gutsy and incredibly generous.

  He wanted to say “thank you” as he collapsed at her side, damp and breathing raggedly. He wanted to tell her…but before he could finish the thought or form words, he was asleep.

  8

  JAKE WOKE SUDDENLY and completely, a loud and unfamiliar noise jarring him out of a deep, dreamless sleep. He blinked and shook his head, confused. Then he heard a groa
n and an arm flapped across his body, the spread-fingered hand banging futilely in the direction of the buzzing alarm clock.

  It occurred to him that Cyn was not a morning person. She looked like a woodland animal coming out of hibernation and deciding it was too early for spring. Her eyes stayed shut as her hand flailed away.

  Taking pity, he punched the snooze button for her, then grinned, watching her burrow back down in the covers. She wiggled until she found the right spot, then curled into herself.

  He breathed deeply. He felt easier than he had in months, and he knew he had Cyn to thank for that. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Hank, and the guilt he’d always carry. The best therapy Jake could imagine for getting over his grief would be to catch the bastards who’d killed his friend. But Cyn had given him comfort, too. More than comfort, a deep sense of peace.

  He wished he could let her sleep longer—she’d had three hours at the most—but she shouldn’t draw attention to herself if she was going back to Oceanic. So long as she kept her promise to stay away from snooping, she’d be safe, and he’d still have eyes and ears inside the company.

  They hadn’t found a thing last night, so chances were the place was clean, anyway. He couldn’t keep this one-man operation going much longer. He knew that. Adam had given him more time than he’d expected, but it couldn’t last much longer. He’d have to acknowledge defeat.

  Maybe it was time to accept that Hank was gone.

  A mutter drew his attention to the warm, naked woman beside him. He kissed her awake. “Sorry, babe, but you slept through your alarm.”

  Her eyes opened, blank and sleepy. Then she focused on him and her smile lit his world. “Morning.”

  He kissed her again, taking his time, filling his hands with her sleep-warmed skin while his body suggested all sorts of great ideas for starting the day off right. “I can never get enough of you,” he mumbled against her lips.

  “Good,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing up against him.

  The snooze alarm made another attempt, and with a cry of horror, Cyn pushed herself up to a sitting position.