Situation: Out of Control/Full Exposure

by Debra Webb

  Heath felt confident that Rafe's decision to let him use the room had more to do with his desire to keep an eye on Heath than out of hospitality. The old man was very protective of Jayne. Walt Messina had no reason to suspect Heath since his friend at the Post had vouched for him. Of course Heath had never met the gentleman at the Denver Post but Cole Danes had. The guy owed him a favor.

  Heath scratched his chest as he maneuvered his way through the dark kitchen. He wouldn't want to owe Cole Danes any favors. Heath immediately chastised himself for going back down that road. He had to give Danes a chance, let him do his thing. Trust, or at least patience, was his new watchword. Heath's trust had taken a beating from his former homicide partner, but he couldn't let that disappointment keep him down.

  Harsh light blared from the refrigerator when he pulled the door open. Heath blinked against the brightness. He'd been so absorbed in keeping an eye on Jayne tonight he'd failed to eat. But that wasn't unusual. As a police detective he'd always gotten caught up in his cases to the point of letting everything else go.

  As he perused the ready-sliced meats and cheeses, he couldn't help wondering what made this time different. Yes, he was fully focused on his asset, but the whole Cole Danes issue kept butting into his perspective. He had to forget that guy and put the I.A. investigation out of his mind. Whatever lurked in the Colby Agency's past had nothing to do with him. This case would be best served if he remembered that fact.

  Deli-sliced ham and provolone cheese made his gut rumble. He grabbed the selections as well as the mayo and eased the fridge door closed with one hip. He blinked a couple of times to adjust to the darkness again and set the items on the nearest counter. The overhead light switch was all the way on the other side of the room next to the door leading into the bar. He'd definitely need some light to locate the bread.

  The creak of a floorboard alerted him a split second before his gaze zeroed in on movement in the dark near the storeroom door.

  He had company.

  Heath froze. Let his senses do the work. The intruder moved slowly into the room. There were a couple of exterior windows but tonight's cloud cover ensured virtually no light whatsoever from the moon. A few more steps and his company would be at the end of the long stainless steel island that separated them.

  An almost inaudible but sharp intake of breath warned him that his presence had abruptly been noted.

  He had to move.

  Heath was over the island and on top of the intruder before he could take another step.

  The soft scent of lilacs and silky feel of feminine skin exploded in Heath's senses as he pinned the intruder to the cold, steel surface of the counter.

  He grabbed something long and solid right before it collided with his head.

  Wood.

  Baseball bat.

  "The police will be here any minute!"

  Jayne.

  Heath hadn't really needed the threat to recognize her. He'd known who she was the moment he touched her, smelled her. That her lithe body was trapped beneath his against the unyielding steel penetrated his awareness next. As strong as she looked she felt incredibly soft beneath him. Those well-defined and toned muscles were still undeniably feminine, warm and desirable to his touch.

  "You'd better let me go you son of a—"

  "It's me," he said, cutting her off and jerking himself from the momentary trance he'd drifted into. He pulled the bat from her hand and stepped back. "Heath Murphy."

  She whirled away from him and stamped toward the door and the light switch there, the hard slap of her bare feet on the wood floor declaring her fury loud and clear. Oh hell, someone should have told her he was staying here. Obviously it should have been him. He'd assumed Rafe would fill her in.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded as she flipped the switch, flooding the room with fluorescent light. The long bulbs blinked erratically then hummed into full bloom.

  Heath looked at the baseball bat he'd wrestled from her then back at the woman. "Do you always wander around in the middle of the night with a deadly weapon?" he teased, hoping to defuse her anger. He laid the bat on the counter, not wanting to look intimidating or threatening in any way.

  "Answer the question, dammit." She crossed her arms over her chest and stalked back in his direction.

  He wished she had taken the time to don a robe so he wouldn't be distracted by her shapely legs. The nightshirt hit mid-thigh, leaving plenty to derail his concentration. He gave himself a mental shake. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her in that getup already. Somehow the real thing was vastly more appealing than the image on his monitor or maybe he just felt free to appreciate the view when she was aware he was looking.

  "I'm staying in the back room." He hitched his thumb in that direction. "The hotels were all booked up. Rafe kindly offered me a place to bunk."

  If he'd hoped that assurance would calm her out rage, he'd been wrong. She looked even more furious now.

  "Are you telling me," she countered hotly, "that Rafe okayed your staying here and didn't say anything about it to me?"

  "Obviously." Heath cleared his throat and gestured vaguely. "I'm sure it was just an oversight. It was a last-minute decision this afternoon and with the busy night in the bar he probably forgot."

  "This was Walt's idea, wasn't it?" she accused, those green eyes glowing with ire.

  Damn, he could just imagine if all that fury were to morph into another kind of passion…

  "Er…yes," he confessed. "Walt suggested it."

  Jayne shook her head, none too happy to have her suspicions confirmed, then that sizzling gaze whipped back to his. "You could have mentioned it."

  He shrugged, then wrapped his own arms around his chest. He'd never been shy about his body, especially with a woman, but he suddenly felt utterly naked in front of her. He hadn't bothered to drag on a shirt, hadn't expected to encounter anyone.

  "I should have, yes." He lifted one shoulder in an other apologetic shrug. "I guess I didn't think about it." He let his gaze settle fully onto hers. "I was a little distracted." He didn't have to spell it out…she knew he meant the dance. Recognition flared in her eyes.

  Dammit. The impact of his dark eyes was very nearly more than Jayne could bear. She had told herself that he couldn't affect her that way, but she was wrong. He made her shiver in spite of her fury and that only made her angrier.

  A new suspicion broadsided her. Her gaze narrowed. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Murphy?" Didn't guys like him always think they could have it all? Just because she was the subject of his story didn't mean she was easy, dammit!

  The look of surprise that skittered across that too-handsome face gave her the answer even before he spoke. "No! I…" He looked around as if searching for some better explanation. He pointed to the food he'd dumped on the counter. "I just came in here for a sandwich. I assumed everyone else was asleep."

  He was telling the truth. Jayne reasoned that it was her father's call that had unsettled her so, had made her more distrusting than usual. She outright refused to consider that maybe she was simply attracted to the guy and that his overpowering sensuality wasn't really his fault. He was just too damned good-looking. And that hair. Thick and tousled as it was. She wanted to run her fingers through it.

  She squeezed her fingers into fists of determination and resisted the impulse to tap her foot. What the hell was wrong with her? He might not want to seduce her, but this guy was still a stranger. She had to remember her father's warning. She had no way of knowing who really sent this man. Walt had never even met him before. His name might not even be Heath Murphy. He could be some sort of spy. A killer maybe.

  Yet, her hungry gaze roamed his big, masculine body once more—he looked utterly adorable right now. A killer wouldn't look like this…would he?

  "Maybe you'd like to join me?" He gestured to the ham and cheese. "I'd love the company."

  It was 2:00 a.m. He had to be out of his mind. Or maybe she was because she very much wanted to
join him. A pang of hunger sliced through her, but she wasn't sure ham and cheese would do the trick.

  She swallowed back the want that rose in her throat and tried to relax. "Sure. A sandwich would be nice." She told herself that the best way to figure out if this guy was lying to her was to spend more time with him—question him. See if she could catch him in a lie or trip him up somehow. But she had an awful feeling that she was fooling herself.

  Walt wouldn't have any friends involved in the spy or murder business. She joined Heath on the refrigerator side of the island as he found the bread and started sandwich preparations. She was being ridiculous. He was just a reporter. A friend of a friend of Walt's. She trusted Walt. Trusted Rafe. If they liked this guy—trusted this guy—who was she to argue?

  Jayne pushed away her father's nagging warning and decided to do this her own way. If Heath Murphy was here to get at her father or to harm her there was only one way to find out.

  When Heath's masterpiece sandwiches were ready for debut and Jayne had filled two glasses with milk, she pulled up an old wooden stool on the opposite side of the counter from him. She wanted to watch his facial expressions as they talked. At least that's what she told her self. It wasn't a hardship, but it was necessary, wasn't it?

  She had to know if this guy was for real.

  "I've never cared for Denver," she told him bluntly. "Have you always lived there?"

  He washed down a mouthful of sandwich with a big swig of milk. "Actually I live in Chicago. I'm a freelance writer so I do articles for a number of publications around the country."

  Uneasiness slid through her. "So you don't actually work for Walt's friend?"

  He shook his head. "I do but I don't." A slow, easy smile widened that full mouth. "Does that make sense?"

  Wow. She blinked, averted her gaze from that megawatt smile. "Yeah, sure." She took a bite of her sandwich to buy some time for contemplating her next question.

  "Aspen has always been home to you?" he asked be fore she could decide on her next move.

  "I lived in Chicago until I was six." She supposed that gave them something in common, in a roundabout way. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why in the world would she care if they had anything in common? He was just a minor nuisance in her life that would be gone be fore she could decide if he was friend or foe.

  "Really? Where? Maybe I live in that same neighborhood." He flashed that smile again.

  "Oak Park." She remembered the little house they'd owned there. She'd hated the basement. Wouldn't even go down there with her mother. But the neighborhood had been nice enough the best she remembered.

  "Do you miss it?" he asked. "Chicago, I mean."

  "No." Jayne's appetite vanished. Somehow the subject of Chicago always had that effect on her. Maybe it was because that's where everything had changed. She, her mother and father had lived what felt like the perfect life then. At least, to the extent she could remember. He had come home more often, even stayed for weeks at a time. Her mother had kept the house filled with scents of cookies baking and pot roasts simmering. She'd had lots of friends at school and in the neighborhood.

  Then suddenly it all ended. Her father disappeared and she and her mother moved away.

  "Earth to Jayne."

  She blinked. "What?" She hadn't realized he'd said anything. Nor did she like the way he was looking at her now. Analyzing her. Trying to read between the lines of her answers, as well as her distraction. She was the one who needed to be analyzing. Instead she'd gotten bogged down with the past. She hated when that happened.

  "I was asking where you ended up after Chicago."

  "Sacramento, California." That her tone still sounded distracted flustered her. Her father's call had her off balance, that's all. She refused to consider that it might be this damnable attraction to the man facing her at the moment. They'd only just met.

  She wished now that she hadn't been awakened by his late-night plundering. Somehow her gaze shifted downward from his face, to rest on his bare chest. For a desk jockey he kept in great shape. Those broad shoulders were sculpted much like a climber's. She already knew how strong he was by the way he'd pinned her to this countertop and taken the bat away. She shivered and focused on the barely touched sandwich on her plate.

  "I'll bet it took some time to adjust to that kind of change."

  Again Jayne found herself scrambling to catch up with the conversation. He'd said more, but the words hadn't penetrated the haze of lust she'd slipped into.

  "It wasn't that bad," she lied. She'd hated California. No one had liked her. The school had been so different from the one she'd attended in Chicago that she'd been utterly miserable. That's when she'd started her climbing hobby.

  Memory after memory of her climbing high in the trees in her backyard flashed one after the other through her mind. She'd started out being satisfied with reaching the lower limbs, but then the need to go higher and higher had become an obsession. It had been the perfect escape. High above the rest of the world. Looking down on all those who treated her as an outsider.

  She'd been in love with climbing ever since.

  "I learned a lot about myself there," she said out loud, more to herself than to the man staring expectantly at her. She settled her gaze on his. "I learned I could be anything I wanted to, all I had to do was work at it."

  And she had. She'd gotten through school, had herself a degree in geology but never once had she felt inclined to teach or do research. She'd rather just revel in the natural beauty and wonders that God had created. That need for adventure had brought her here. Just for the winter she'd told herself. After college she'd wanted, needed, a break before making a decision on what to do with the rest of her life. Her mother was gone. There was nothing holding her anywhere.

  She'd come here that winter for the season and she'd never left. Her hard work and perseverance had paid off. She explored nature's beauty for a living and helped show others what the world at twelve thousand feet above sea level had to offer. It was amazing.

  She didn't drive a fancy SUV, just an old clunker she'd picked up from a local. She didn't own her own home. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that she was content. No ties, no commitments to any one but herself. Well, other than the mountain rescue team and the occasional lost climber.

  She didn't need anything else. She'd learned from the best—never look back. Not once had her father ever at tempted to explain his sudden disappearance or his long absences. He simply showed up and pretended that all was as it should be.

  "What about your folks?"

  Heath's question snapped her back to attention. She had to stop zoning out like that.

  "My…" She started to tell him that her mother was dead and that her father visited occasionally but she caught herself in time. She blinked, taken aback that she would stumble so badly with this man. Bolstering her defenses, she dished out the standard story, "There's no one but me." She produced the requisite sad smile.

  "Well, no one besides Rafe and my friends here."

  He spotted the lie as soon as it was out of her mouth. She didn't miss the detection in his eyes before he disguised his surprise at her response. That unsettled her just a little. What did her family, or lack thereof, have to do with anything? Why would it matter if she chose not to talk about her family?

  Beware of any strangers who come into your life.

  Maybe she should heed her father's warning. Heath Murphy was the only stranger who had come into her life, other than tourists, in a very long time. His sudden appearance just prior to her father's warning might not be coincidence.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Heath said with a kind of sincerity that couldn't be faked, giving her something to puzzle over. "It's tough losing the people you care about."

  He spoke from personal experience; she heard an old, lingering hurt in his words. But even bad guys had loved ones. However sincere he appeared, that didn't mean she could trust him. No one knew that better than her.


  "Well, you know—" she pushed to her feet "—that's life." She picked up her plate and glass. "Good night, Mr. Murphy."

  Rafe didn't like anyone dirtying up his sink once the kitchen was clean. Jayne quickly dumped the remains of her sandwich into the trash and deposited her dinner ware into the empty dishwasher. If Mr. Murphy was smart he'd do the same. Or maybe he wouldn't and Rafe would kick him out.

  She could hope. Turning from the sink she came face-to-face with the man who had an uncanny ability to completely disorient her. At first she'd thought he'd decided to follow her example and clean up after him self, but instead he set his dishes on the counter next to her. Her gaze followed the movement, slid up those powerful arms and rested on that awesome chest. She hated herself for the weakness but she was only human.

  "Look, I apologize if I brought up a tender subject when I asked about your family," he offered quietly.

  "I've got a few of my own. I can assure you I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable."

  Jayne took a deep breath and gave her head a little shake. "Look, Murphy, why don't I just tell you the truth, okay?" Her heart started to pound when her brain caught up with her mouth. She'd always preferred honesty. Never had learned to hold her tongue the way she should. But this startled even her. "I don't know you," she stated bluntly, knowing full well it was too late to turn back now. "I don't trust you. And I have no intention of sleeping with you."

  The last statement sent heat flooding to her cheeks and utter humiliation racing through the rest of her body. She could have left out that part. Dammit.

  Instead of saying anything he took his time loading his dishes into the dishwasher, still blocking her escape with his body and giving her more than adequate time to grow utterly flustered. Cutting him some slack, she had just said a mouthful. Maybe he needed a moment to come up with a rebuttal.