When he started to protest again, she said, “I understand your concern, Nate, but I’m going to try a different tack today, and I’d be worried about him becoming suspicious as to why I’m so ardent in my questions. If he discovers the wire, he’d make me as a cop, and that would be that.”
“And just how would he discover a wire hidden on your body, Andie?” He actually glared at her.
“I’m a big girl now, so don’t go there, okay? Listen, I’m trying to get him to trust me, confide in me, let me in a little. To do that, the woman in me has to appeal to the man in him.”
“Andie, I—”
“Let me grow up, will you? I’m not that seven-year-old girl anymore tagging after you and Ethan. I’m a woman with a job to do, so let me do it the best way I know how.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, closed his mouth, nodded.
“Besides,” she continued more softly. “I’ve got my cell phone, and my knee, and I know how to use both. He doesn’t suspect anything, and I’m going to keep the conversation on those stupid dreams I’ve been having. It’s going to be casual, all the way. There won’t be any trouble. None at all, Nate. I promise.”
Though the downtown parking garage was nearly full, Andie finally found a spot on the fourth tier. Locking her car, she checked her watch, hurried to the elevator, and pressed the button. She heard the gears engage, and a minute later, the door slowly slid open. Entering the small compartment, she went to press the button to take her down, when a man’s form appeared in the doorway. Quickly, he stepped inside and faced her, blocking her exit. The door rattled closed.
He widened his stance, clasping his hands in front of him. The navy blue suit he wore was exquisitely tailored. He looked polished and professional. With a slight grin, he said, “Made any progress yet, Inspector?”
Commander Bostwick. The elevator began its noisy descent. She was alone in a small compartment with a man she had once admired and now loathed, even feared. A man she thoroughly distrusted.
Suddenly she wished with all her heart and soul that she’d worn that damn wire.
“Sir,” she said, meeting his gaze head-on. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
His grin widened, but in no way could be construed as friendly. “Right to the point, eh, Inspector? Well, I was just checking up on my favorite lady cop.” His smile vanished; his eyes gleamed with malice. “I asked you if you’d made any progress.”
“Some. Nothing much to report yet, though. I’m meeting Sinclair in a few minutes.”
The elevator settled to the street level, and the door ambled open. Without taking his eyes from her, he reached behind him and pressed a button. The door closed again, and the elevator began to rise. So they weren’t done yet.
“What floor did I press?” he said, clasping his hands in front of him once more.
“Six.”
He nodded as though satisfied. “Good. That’s probably all the time we need. I understand there’s been an unexpected…complication.”
Behind her, the wood paneling felt too hard, too cold, like the inside of a cheap coffin. The fluorescent light overhead was harsh, distorting Bostwick’s features. For the first time in her life, she felt claustrophobic.
“A woman’s been murdered,” she said. “And you consider that a little complication?”
“I do. Sinclair’s responsible, of course.”
She swallowed. “I doubt that.”
He looked surprised. “Defending him, Inspector? Has he charmed the pants off you, too?”
Ignoring his innuendo, she said, “There’s no evidence to indicate he had anything to do with the Mochrie woman’s death. My understanding is, the coroner hasn’t even—”
“Evidence can be misleading,” he interrupted. “It can be conclusive or it can be vague. You already know how I feel about evidence, don’t you, Inspector?”
“You want it whether it exists or not.”
His mouth descended into a bitter-looking scowl. “No time to get flip, Andie. I have to say, I’m displeased with your progress. I expected more expeditiousness from someone with your…ambitions.”
The elevator stopped, and the door opened. Behind Bostwick, three people stood, but when they attempted to enter the elevator, the commander waved them off and pressed the button for the ground floor. As the door closed, Andie heard angry yelps of protest, but Bostwick seemed oblivious.
When he returned his attention to her, she said, “Sinclair’s a hard nut to crack. He doesn’t give much away. He’s just starting to trust me, and I’m getting close—”
“Get closer, and soon,” he snapped. “Or a nasty rumor will begin to circulate about your partner, and you know how rumors are. They tend to grow and take on a life of their own. You don’t want that, do you, Inspector?”
“Dylan and I were never involved, and you know it. Neither he nor I have done anything wrong—”
“I. Don’t. Care,” he snarled, leaning toward her so his face was only inches from her own. “Think about it. Who has more credibility, my dear, a sexy blond bombshell and her famously womanizing partner, or a commander with a spotless reputation?”
Andie remained silent, unsure what to do, what to say next. The air inside the elevator compartment was stale, thick with poisonous tension. She had to get out of there, get away from Bostwick’s viperous presence.
“To make sure I get what I want,” he said softly, “I’m upping the stakes.”
“What are you talking about?” Her words rode on an exhaled breath, soft, almost not there at all.
“Not only do I want evidence of Sinclair’s fraud,” Bostwick said, “I want it on the homicide. Sinclair killed the Mochrie woman to get his hands on a very valuable necklace. Finding it in Sinclair’s possession would just about seal the case. Retrieve it for me, and all the unpleasantness goes away.”
“But the homicide is being worked by—”
“Your brother. Yes I know. Very convenient, don’t you think?”
“You…did you have something to do with Nate’s being assigned to the Mochrie case?”
He shrugged. The elevator settled on the ground floor once again, and the door opened. This time, he stepped out.
“That’s neither here nor there,” he said softly as he backed away from her. “Find that necklace. I don’t care who you have to betray to get it, but find it and give it to me. I want Sinclair’s ass in a sling and you’re going to help me put it there. Find the necklace, Inspector, or life for you and for all those around you is going to get very, very unhappy very, very fast. You have forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight hours! That’s ridiculous—”
“Let me repeat. I. Don’t. Care. I need this taken care of now. You’re lucky I don’t make it twenty-four hours.”
Anger and astonishment edged her words. “What if Sinclair didn’t kill the woman? What if he didn’t steal the necklace? What if—”
“He did, and we both know it! I don’t want to hear any more excuses. Do this job right, or suffer the consequences!”
A car door slammed, people jabbered about something, footsteps echoed through the parking garage as a man and a woman began strolling toward the sidewalk.
Straightening his tie, Bostwick sent Andie a generous smile. She would have thought it sincere, except for the lethal gleam in his eyes.
As he turned and walked away, over his shoulder, he said congenially, “Forty-eight hours, Andie. Understand?” then pushed through the double glass doors to disappear into the bright San Francisco sunlight.
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled. Her eyes never left those doors as she felt her blood turn to ice. “I understand completely.”
Chapter 13
It is the mark of a good action that it appears inevitable in retrospect.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Logan went to the door expecting to be dazzled by Andrea Darling. He’d tug her into his room, kiss her, test her resolve, her resistance—and her repertoire of creative avoidance
techniques. The fact was, he’d lined up a number of expectations for their encounter today, and he intended to either fulfill each one, or amuse himself at how she’d squirm out of them.
He assumed she’d dress alluringly. After all, it was her job to snare him, get him to let down his defenses, tell her all his secrets. Since meeting her, he’d learned to anticipate the cool look in her eyes, the squared shoulders, the determination.
But when he opened the door, what he saw nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Instead of the sassy, confident, give-as-good-as-she-got undercover detective, he felt sucker-punched at the unexpected look of vulnerability in her eyes.
Aye, she covered it quick enough, but it was there all the same, and it affected him faster and more effectively than a poison arrow straight through the heart.
When she said nothing, just stood there like a fragile doll, he reached for her, gently curling his fingers around her shoulders. With the slightest motion, he pulled her into his arms, lowered his head, and kissed her.
At first, she did nothing, neither resisted nor yielded. But when he tugged her closer into his body, she seemed to relax, let go. She made a soft whimper at the back of her throat, then flung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth for him.
Kissing him back, she gave as good as she got. Her mouth was soft, but her kisses teasing, coaxing, sexy as hell. She slid her tongue against his, and he grunted in satisfaction, tightening his embrace. He could feel the length of her body touching his in all the best places. Her nipples were hard against his chest, her hips firm to his own, and he had to resist the primitive urge to back her against the wall and thrust into her, make her gasp his name, moan her release, pant for more.
It wasn’t the sex he wanted so much; it was her. Her and her and her and all of her, and more. Her until he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk. Her until the world no longer existed, and it was just the two of them alone with no distractions—no wretched memories, no stained past or complicated present, no uncertain future. Only now, this very moment. Give and take and man and woman and primal and hot and passionate. Her, only her in his heart and in his soul.
She had the power to heal him, to make it all right again, allow him to forgive himself, make him whole. Maybe it was just some cruel cosmic joke, an illusion his weary and desperate mind had created to try and find absolution where there was none.
Something about her made him believe he’d paid long enough. But did he well and truly deserve this second chance she was unwittingly offering? Could he risk it? Should he? If he did, and she walked away, would the pain of it be too great to bear?
His brain twisted and spun until only one thought, one word remained. Andie, Andie, Andie…what you do to me, lass. Christ, what you do to me…
He kicked at the door until it closed, then went for the buttons on her blouse. The fabric parted. Instantly, his mouth was on her breast. He yanked down the lace of her bra until one dark nipple popped free, and he covered it with his mouth, suckling, teasing with his tongue until the nub was hard and he heard her fighting for breath. She choked his name, then pushed her palms against him, trying to shove him away.
He stopped. Lowering his head, he fought to recover his own breath. The room was silent, except for the sounds of their breathing. After a moment or two, his brain cleared a little, and common sense returned.
Slowly tugging her bra back in place, he made a feeble attempt to close the front of her blouse, but she brushed his hand away.
She didn’t speak, didn’t move past him, just stood with her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed. He could feel her body trembling, and he wasn’t so full of himself that he didn’t realize it wasn’t his mere kisses that had set her nerves on edge.
Stroking her silky hair, he whispered, “What’s wrong, darlin’ Andie?”
A moment passed. And in that moment, he withdrew his defenses and let the essence of her seep deeply into his core. He did not resist, but welcomed the union. Relaxing further, he let the sorrow and confusion she sought to hide from him, mingle with his own energy. He inhaled, breathing in her scent as though it was life-sustaining, and for this very moment, maybe it was. Closing his eyes, he absorbed all she was into all he was, making her a part of his own flesh and bone and soul.
Against his chest, her heart beat slow and heavy, and he held her closer. “Please,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She took in a breath and he felt her rib cage expand, her breasts move against him, her spine straighten.
“If you really were clairvoyant,” she muttered, “you’d know.”
Raising her head, she captured his gaze with her own.
So we’re back to the game, are we, lass? Good for you…
Logan wanted to laugh out loud in sheer joy, but instead, used his free hand to cup the nape of her neck. He brought his mouth down hard on hers, and she opened for him without hesitation this time.
Letting his tongue seduce her mouth, he ran his hands down her sides, over her hips, down her rump where he splayed his fingers and pulled her tight into him. When she moaned into his mouth, he slowly let his hands glide around to her belly.
Aye, she was clean; no wire. He’d thought not. So she was playing it fast and loose, eh? He stifled a smile as he kissed her harder, letting his hands roam over her body.
She pulled back a wee bit, panting. Her green eyes were misty with unmistakable desire. “I’m not…going to sleep with you.”
Lowering his head, he bit the side of her neck, licked her there, then nuzzled her ear. “But you want to.”
“I also want world peace, but it’s not going to happen.”
“You never can tell, lass. What with the proper negotiations and incentives…”
She stepped back from him and crossed her arms. And wasn’t that body language at its most expressive.
Looking down for a moment, then meeting his gaze, she stated, “I came to see you because I’d like your help.”
“Done,” he said without hesitation. “What do you—”
“I want you to help me,” she began, then paused. Biting her lower lip, she inhaled deeply then laughed sharply. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I want you to help me contact that woman in my dream. Can you?”
He stared at her, swallowed.
I can do it, lass, but I don’t want to. Dear God, don’t ask it of me. I’ve already sacrificed enough to get close to you. After all these years, my feelings for you have me lowering my defenses. You have no idea what you’re asking…no idea at all.
“I’ll think about it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “You’ll think about it? Hey, it’s what you do, isn’t it? The truth is, you really are a fake, aren’t you? What, haven’t you had time to research Emma, so you can use whatever facts you uncover to trick me into believing in your powers? What happens after you tell me some cock-and-bull story that ensures my trust and blind devotion? Are you going to ask for money? Sex? Both?”
He looked into her upturned face and felt his emotions begin to fray around the edges. When—exactly—had she become so important to him? What moment was it when she ceased to simply be an attractive woman and become his obsession?
“Sex and money,” he said lightly. “Neither to be underestimated, darlin’ Andie.”
Doubling her fists, she lurched toward him, slamming her hands into his chest.
“Tell me!” she bit out through clenched teeth. “I need to know, goddammit! I need to understand if you’re on the level or not! You don’t…you have no idea…I…damn, just tell me!”
The lass was either a very good actress, or her distress was real. She was nearly hysterical, and he wondered, did she want to know for herself, or to ensure an indictment?
Placing his hands over her balled fists, he said, “You have it nailed, lass. I’m a fraud, through and through.”
Her delicate brows furrowed and she looked like somebody had just tossed her bannocks into the Findhorn
.
“You are a fake?” she whispered. Slowly, she shook her head as though in disappointed disbelief. “You really are?”
With a shrug, he dropped his hands, freeing her fists. She kept them in place against his chest.
“I am,” he admitted. Without warning, he felt the old bitterness rise in his throat, and the truth came out before he could stop it.
“A man’s got to make a living, lass. When I was a wee lad, I discovered I had the Powers and used them willy-nilly. Pretty full of myself, I was, and in the end…it cost me more than I ever wanted to pay.”
The images played through his head, the memories, the loss. With a quick shrug, he said, “When I discovered it was not so much a gift as it was a cruel joke, I decided to use the Powers, instead of them using me.” Self-loathing soured his mouth. “I did readings, got a name for myself, wrote a couple of books. The rich and famous clamored after my services. The tabloids loved me. I became the Paris Hilton of the psychic world. All very grand.”
Shoving Andie’s balled fists off his chest, he stepped back, away from her warmth, her furrowed brow, the disillusionment in her eyes.
Her chin lifted as she seemed to assess him, but was it the seductive Andrea Devon who watched him so closely or the secretive Andie Darling?
She reached for him, placing her open palm over his heart. “I’m sorry.”
He scoffed. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Andie. I’m sleepin’ in a bed of my own making.”
“Tell me about it.”
He nearly did, nearly confessed everything. Instead, he let his head fall back, and he laughed. Even to his own ears, it was a harsh sound, edged with self-recrimination. He took her hand between his and she made no effort to escape. But of course, she wouldn’t. This was a game to her, one she obviously intended to win. How could she know he’d changed the rules?
“I’ll make a deal with you, lass.”
A glint of caution flared in her eyes. “Go on.” She swallowed, and he was certain she feared the kind of deal he’d propose.
“I share with you my deepest, darkest secrets…”
Killer Charms Page 14
