by Karen Leabo
Not that she imagined for a moment that Clint was afraid of her, but something about the kiss had spooked him.
“What the hell was that?” he wanted to know.
“If you don’t know, then you’ve been missing something in your life,” she quipped, though she felt far from humorous. She just didn’t know how else to handle it. If she shrugged the whole thing off, he would think she went around kissing people that way all the time. And if she told him what she was really feeling—that the kiss had been the most soul-stirring, mind-boggling experience she’d ever participated in, he would think she was the naive one, totally lacking in worldliness.
Still holding her in a light embrace, he narrowed his eyes speculatively. “Maybe I have at that.”
She pulled away abruptly, clearing her throat, looking everywhere but at him. “Why don’t I go clean up the kitchen?”
“There’s no time,” Clint said, his voice rough. The sound of it skittered down each and every one of her nerve endings. “We need to decide where you should be when you call Jimmy. Then we have to decide exactly what you’ll say to him. We have to get your story straight.”
Marissa nodded, her spirits sagging a bit. The consummate professional, Clint could turn off his emotions easily. Back to business. Of course, she was the one who’d mentioned kitchen cleaning. She should be grateful that he was going along with her plan. “We should call him before noon. From somewhere besides here, I’m guessing. Maybe we should get a move on.”
“Let’s do it, then. You have my keys.”
Sheepishly, Marissa fished in the tight jeans pocket for the car keys she’d never returned. When she handed them over, her fingers brushed against Clint’s, and again there was that frisson of awareness, like static electricity.
Now she was the one getting spooked. This was a man who resorted to force when he wanted something. She should be repulsed, not attracted. But she was attracted, and had been from the very moment she laid eyes on him. The very thing that had frightened her—his power over her—had also drawn her.
The really scary part was, he still had power over her. He’d freed her. If she walked away and never looked back, he wouldn’t stop her. Yet, she couldn’t.
“What if Eddie is listening in when I call Jimmy?” Marissa asked as they hurtled down the highway toward Houston.
They’d been going over their strategy. Clint wasn’t wild about Marissa’s plan. He liked the part where he got his hands on Jimmy Gabriole, but the rest of it seemed kind of half-baked. She’d been right about one thing, though. Everything depended on Jimmy. Once Clint talked to him, he would have to make the decision as to if, and how much, they could trust him.
It also hadn’t escaped his attention that he was going directly against Bureau orders by moving ahead with Marissa’s proposition. McCormick would never condone this setup. He wouldn’t believe Marissa’s story to begin with. He would want to pull in Rusty. He would want to drag the bay for the sunken Phen-Hu. Most significantly, he would want to throw Clint’s butt in jail, and rightly so.
Meanwhile, their window of opportunity for meeting with Jimmy and securing his cooperation would close.
“I’m almost certain Eddie will be there when you call,” Clint answered. He’d been thinking this angle through. “If Eddie set me up, then he must be the ‘friend’ Jimmy referred to, the one who knows where Rachelle is. Yeah, I suspect he’ll be listening in on the phone call.”
Marissa nodded her agreement. “I was afraid you would say that. But you’re right. If Jimmy turned to Eddie for help, Eddie no doubt put on a big act, pretending to be the supportive friend, offering advice, manipulating things his way. And if Rusty’s talked to them—”
“I don’t think he has.”
“Why not?”
“If he was trying to make points with the big guys, he didn’t succeed. In fact, he screwed up pretty badly. He doesn’t want them to know how badly. In fact, he’d probably rather they didn’t know of his involvement at all.”
“Oh, but I think they already knew. He said he’d talked to Rachelle right before he rented the Phen-Hu. So he probably told her, what was going on, don’t you think?”
Another knife pierced Clint’s heart. Rachelle again. He still found it nearly impossible to believe Rachelle had signed his death warrant. But he couldn’t ignore the evidence Marissa had presented to him. It all dovetailed together so nicely.
“I’m sorry,” Marissa said. “I don’t mean to keep throwing her in your face. It must hurt—”
“She’s not that important to me,” Clint said, a bold-faced lie he knew wouldn’t fool Marissa. Still, it stopped the amateur psychoanalysis she’d been about to give him. Hell, yeah, it hurt. He wasn’t in love with Rachelle, but he’d believed they held a certain loyalty to each other.
He’d deal with the pain later. Emotions had no place in the middle of a critical operation.
“Anyway,” Marissa continued, “we need to convince Jimmy to come alone when he picks me up.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Clint said. “All you have to do is tell him to pick you up at FBI headquarters, that you’ve been there all morning spilling your guts about this nutcase agent who kidnapped you. I guarantee Eddie won’t be within ten miles of that place. In fact, I’ll be surprised if Jimmy agrees to come there.”
Marissa’s eyes flashed dangerously, as they did any time she was forced to defend her brother. “You just watch. He’ll be there in a New York minute without even blinking.”
Clint hoped she was right.
Downtown Houston was pretty desolate on Sundays. Clint passed up the Bureau garage and parked on the street. There was a pay phone on the corner.
“You ready?” he asked Marissa.
Marissa wiped her palms on the legs of her jeans. “Ready.”
Clint put Rusty’s gun, newly reloaded, in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt hem out to hide the weapon as they got out of the car.
“Do you absolutely have to carry that thing?” Marissa asked.
“Yes.” Didn’t she realize he was doing it for her protection? So much for his “no guns” promise to himself. All bets were off from the time he’d kissed Marissa. He might have acted slightly protective toward her before, but now he felt like he would tackle a rhinoceros barehanded to keep her safe. Besides, when had she developed qualms about carrying a weapon? The gun stayed.
“Figures,” she muttered.
Her obvious disgust really bothered him. She’d painted him with the same brush she used for Eddie and his ilk. Clint wanted to argue that he wasn’t like them—he was one of the good guys. But given his recent history, he figured he’d be wasting his breath with that argument. He grabbed the cell phone, stuffed it in his back pocket, and slammed the door.
He walked close to her as they made their way down the sidewalk. He had no reason to believe anyone was watching them, but Clint was superalert nonetheless.
When they reached the phone, Marissa took a deep breath and deposited a quarter.
Jimmy answered his home number on the first ring with a cautious “hello?”
Marissa’s heart thudded almost painfully. “Jimmy?”
“God, Marissa? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” She did her best to sound like a traumatized woman. “Jimmy, I escaped. I need you to come get me.”
“Oh, thank God! Sure, sissy, sure. You just tell me where.”
“I’m downtown, in the twenty-five hundred block of Jester. Listen, Jimmy, the guy that hijacked your boat—”
“It’s okay, baby, we know all about him.”
Jimmy’s use of “we” didn’t reassure her. “Oh, good. He’s really crazy. You didn’t pay him any ransom money or anything, did you?”
“No. He didn’t want money. This whole thing was about him being crazy for some chick. Eddie was gonna help me out with this thing—God, Marissa, I was scared to death. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. He didn’t hurt me, and he’s
not following me or anything. I called nine-one-one, and the police picked me up and took me to the FBI headquarters downtown. ’Cause this guy was an FBI agent, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s what Eddie said. I hope they’re gonna arrest the lowlife. You, uh, told the FBI the whole story?”
“Everything.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll get my boat back. Look, Sophia and I’ll come get you, okay? I don’t like leaving you on no downtown street corner on a Sunday.”
“Okay. But only you two, okay? Leave Eddie out of this. I look a mess, and I don’t want anyone else to see me.”
“Sure thing, sissy. Give us twenty or thirty minutes.” He hung up.
So did Marissa. She turned toward Clint, finding herself almost lip to lip with him again. She quickly took a half-step backward. “So, what’d you think?”
“He’s coming, like you said. And from the way he was talking, it sounded as if Eddie Constantine was the one who knew what was going on.”
Marissa nodded, giving him an I-told-you-so look.
“Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll wait in my car. When you get in Jimmy’s car, you signal me if Jimmy and Sophia are alone.”
“How do I do that?”
“Put your left hand up and smooth your hair before you get in. Yes, like that,” he said as she tried out the gesture. “Then I’ll tail Jimmy’s car to make sure no one is following him. After about ten minutes, you ask Jimmy to pull over at a gas station or someplace. Claim you have to use the restroom.”
Marissa nodded. She felt like a traitor, using all this subterfuge to get her own brother alone. But Clint was giving Jimmy the benefit of the doubt. The least she could do was follow these simple directions. He seemed to know what he was doing.
“At the gas station, or wherever you stop, you watch for my car,” he continued. “I’ll give you a thumbs-up if everything’s okay. If anyone besides me is following, I’ll give you a thumbs-down. That means you’re to get directly into my car, no questions asked, and the deal’s off. Okay?”
Marissa bristled. “My brother isn’t going to hurt me!”
“No, but his friends might.” Clint brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, a tender expression overcoming him. Then he seemed to remember himself, and pulled back. “They have a lot to lose in this operation—millions and millions of dollars, and someone’s going to be doing jail time too. They’re not nice people. If they have even a slight suspicion that you know something useful, they won’t let you simply walk away. My guess is that Eddie already ordered Jimmy to bring you to him for a little conversation, at the very least.”
Marissa shivered, despite the fact that the sun was warming things up pretty quickly. What Clint said made sense. He’d been on this case for—what had he said—eight months? Marissa knew almost nothing about it. She had to bow to his expertise.
She nodded. “Okay. I smooth my hair with my left hand if Jimmy and Sophia are alone in the car. What if there is someone else there?”
“Don’t get in the car. Seriously,” he added when she opened her mouth to object.
She gave a frustrated hmph. “All right. I ask to go to the bathroom after ten minutes. Thumbs-up, I return to the car with you and make introductions. Thumbs-down, I get into your car. But what if he sees you following? There’s not a lot of traffic, and that car of yours isn’t exactly anonymous.”
“It could happen, I suppose.” Clint frowned. “Okay. If Jimmy realizes he’s being followed, open a window and wave or something. I’ll drop back. Stop at a gas station the way we planned before, and use a pay phone to call me on the cellular. Then wait for me. I already gave you the number, right?”
“Oh, Clint, this is all so cloak-and-dagger!” He was scaring her. She didn’t enjoy behaving like some two-bit Mata Hari in a B movie.
“This is standard undercover stuff,” he assured her. “I’ll be with you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was low, velvety, almost seductive. And, dammit, why did she find it so reassuring?
“That’s a pretty glib promise,” she quipped, “coming from a man who almost drowned me last night.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me,” he said, completely serious. He looked down at her with those unusual eyes, which right now looked like a soft summer rain cloud. He touched her face. “I can’t believe you’ve stuck around this long. If I were you, I might be rooting for Eddie to win.”
Rather than step away, as she knew she should do, she closed her eyes and savored his touch. “Don’t say that, not even in jest,” she said. “I despise Eddie Constantine, always have. He’s been the worst possible influence on Jimmy. Prison is too good for him, but I still can’t wait to see him there.”
“Amen to that.” Clint brushed his lips against her forehead, so quickly and lightly that she almost believed she’d imagined it, and trotted back to where the Z was parked. The windows were tinted, so no one would notice him. Even though she knew he was watching over her, she felt suddenly alone, vulnerable.
Marissa found a wall to perch against while she waited for Jimmy, the longest fifteen minutes of her life. She counted the cars that went by—not too many. What were the chances that Clint could avoid detection?
She was relieved when Jimmy’s BMW pulled up to the curb, but apprehensive too. She hoped she remembered her role. She hoped she didn’t say anything that would give her position away before she was ready. Jimmy was sure to question her about the events of the last fourteen hours. She tried to see inside, but his windows were also tinted.
To her surprise, Jimmy jumped out from the driver’s seat and threw his arms around her. “Oh, baby, little sister, are you a sight for sore eyes.” Then he held her away from him and inspected her from head to toe. “You sure that jerk didn’t hurt you? I mean it, now. If he did anything to you—”
“No, Jimmy. He didn’t hurt me.” Clint had said to stick with the truth as much as possible, so she wouldn’t have to remember what lies she told. “Please, can we go? I haven’t had any sleep.”
“Sure, sissy, sure.” He opened the back door for her. Marissa quickly peered inside. The backseat was empty. Sophia sat in the passenger seat. Marissa paused, smoothed her hair back with her left hand, and climbed in.
“Marissa!” Sophia squealed, reaching one of her soft, perfectly manicured hands back between the bucket seats to touch her sister-in-law. “We’ve been so worried, sweetie. I knew you shouldn’ta turned down that lobsta dinner.”
Lord, it seemed an eternity ago that she was looking forward to that quiet couple of hours to read and nurse her nausea. “Thanks, Sophia. I’m fine, really, just a little tired.” She noted the time on the digital clock in the dash, so she would know when ten minutes had passed.
“So, how did you escape from that maniac?” Sophia wanted to know. “We’re dyin’, here! You’re so brave and clever.”
By now, Jimmy had slid behind the wheel and locked the doors. He hit the accelerator. “Don’t pester the girl, Sophia. You heard her. She’s pooped.”
“Oh, I don’t mind telling you,” she said, though Clint had cautioned her to say as little as possible to avoid tripping on her own lies. “He stole your boat, and then he met up with an accomplice and put me on another boat—”
“An accomplice?” Jimmy interrupted. “Who?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Marissa said, disturbed by the urgent tone in Jimmy’s voice. Did he have more of a stake in this thing than he was letting on? “Just some guy. I didn’t ever hear his name. Anyway, this other boat was a horrible, fishy-smelling thing. Then the storm got worse, and there was a fire—”
“A fire!” Sophia squealed.
“And the boat sank and we had to swim for shore,” Marissa concluded, all in one breath. “They dragged me to this cheap motel, and then the first guy—”
“Nichols,” Jimmy supplied. “Clint Nichols, the bastard. According to Eddie, he’s some piece of work.”
So, that was his last name, Marissa thought.
“Well, whoever he was, he left me alone with the second guy. The second guy fell asleep, and I hit him over the head with a lamp and got out of there.”
“Oh, Marissa, that was so brave!” Sophia gushed. “I never would have had the guts to—”
“Pipe down, Sophia,” Jimmy said brusquely.
Marissa’s stomach turned; she’d never heard Jimmy say a cross word to his bride. Again, she wondered if Clint had been right about Jimmy, that he had more riding on the outcome of the FBI’s investigation than she knew about.
“Marissa,” Jimmy said, “Eddie’s a little bit worried about what you told the FBI. You know, he has to be careful about these things. He’s not exactly a choirboy.”
“I know,” Marissa said, not even bothering to hide her disgust. She’d never made her animosity toward Eddie a secret. “But what’s he got to worry about?”
“You mean, his name didn’t come up?”
Marissa pretended confusion. “No. Why would it? I mean, this Clint guy was trying to get money out of you, right?”
“Is that what he told you?”
“He wasn’t exactly chummy with me, but he mentioned once or twice that he wanted to ‘do business’ with you. If
“And he didn’t mention this woman to you? This girl named Rachelle?”
Marissa gave her brother a blank stare in the rearview mirror. “No. Who’s she?”
Jimmy shook his head, looking decidedly relieved. “Ah, never mind. This Nichols is a nutcase, like you said. He’s been poking around in Eddie’s business—probably some trumped-up thing his ex-wife started—and he went off the deep end.”
“But how did you get involved?” Marissa knew Clint would be very upset over her conducting her own interrogation, but the question had been burning inside her. She had to know.
Jimmy shrugged. “Damned if I know. Probably has something to do with my owning the Foxhunt. Let’s just be glad it’s over and done with. The FBI’s gonna arrest this clown, huh?”
“They said they would.”
“Good. The sooner the better. Meanwhile, Sophia and I want you to come stay with us. You’ll be safer.”
