Intimate Strangers

by Rebecca York

  Molly pointed toward the house. “There’s a long driveway. You can park around back.”

  Mark pulled the car to the rear of the house, where it was hidden from view, and cut the engine.

  “Do we break in, or did she leave a key?” he asked with a wry note in his voice.

  “You’re getting kind of cynical,” she murmured.

  “It comes with the territory,” he answered, and she could tell from his tone that the stress was getting to him.

  Keeping her own voice neutral, she answered, “Gloria asked me to evaluate the property for her. She told me the key was under the big hydrangea bush near the back door.”

  Mark collected the carryall, and they climbed out. Without waiting for him, she headed for the door.

  He caught up with her and grabbed her arm, none too gently. “Wait!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not taking a chance on your getting hurt. For all we know there could be somebody inside.”

  She doubted that was true, but she deferred to his judgment, hanging back while he found the key, unlocked the door and stepped inside. He returned in a couple of minutes. And, she noted immediately, he’d taken off the mask.

  “Come in.”

  Lucky for them, the house was furnished. Mark lowered the shades before he turned on a light.

  It was a large house, with a country kitchen, a family room and a more formal living and dining area.

  “I see your friend left a computer on the desk in the office,” Mark said as he stood in the middle of the living area.

  “You want to use it?”

  “Yes. To check on Doris Masters, among other things.”

  Molly wasn’t surprised. It seemed likely that Doris was the reason for their unexpected visitors this morning. “Okay,” she agreed, offering him the use of equipment that didn’t belong to her. But then she’d offered the whole house.

  “Did Doris give you any information about herself, about the time before she arrived in town?”

  Molly thought about what Doris had said to her while they’d worked at Shoreside Realty. “She didn’t really talk about her background.”

  Mark nodded and turned down the hall. She was as curious about Doris as he was, and she might have followed him into the other room, but she sensed his tension and figured that it was better to give him some space.

  Instead, she picked up the puzzle box and sat down on the sofa. Phil had acted as if the antique was important. But so far she’d made no progress in figuring out the combination that unlocked it.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there with the box in her hands.

  Some time later Mark came back into the living room, his shoulders stiff and a set expression on his face.

  Molly raised her eyes to his. “Did you find out something incriminating about Doris?” she asked.

  He snorted. “Not likely. Your friend Doris Masters appears to have arrived in Perry’s Cove three years ago. Before that, I can’t get a line on her.”

  “She’s not my friend,” Molly answered immediately.

  “Whatever,” he growled. “The point is that when I did a background check on her, I couldn’t find any records of her existence before the time she showed up here. Zero. Zip. Which means that Doris Masters is a false identity.”

  She digested that. “Why?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe she’s an ex-con starting over here.” He swiped a hand through his hair in frustration. He sounded as if he was on the edge of losing it. “I sent a message to the Light Street Foundation, asking if they could help me. But I haven’t gotten a reply yet.”

  He began to pace back and forth across the room, and she knew that he must be feeling blocked at every turn. Nothing had worked out the way he’d thought it would since he returned to Perry’s Cove. He’d been stalked, beaten, attacked and warned to get out of town.

  When his gaze settled on the puzzle box in her lap, he stopped pacing and wedged his hands on his hips. “You’re still trying to open that damn thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think Phil left it for you because there’s something important inside?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked down at the box in frustration, giving it a hard shake. She thought again she should just take a hammer to it. Only it was too valuable for that, and it had been a gift from her husband. One of his last gifts.

  She looked up and saw Mark striding across the room toward her. He stopped a few feet from the sofa.

  “Phil told you he bought the box,” he said. “Actually, when I first looked at it, I knew it was one that had belonged to Veronica. I remembered the damage on the bottom.”

  She stared at him, wondering if she’d heard correctly. “It belonged to your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could that be? I mean, how could it have been hers then Phil’s?”

  “I’d like to know. I guess she and Phil had some kind of relationship.”

  “You mean they were lovers? I’d have sensed if Phil were having an affair with someone.”

  “Would you?” he pressed.

  She reconsidered her previous statement. “I thought I knew him…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t something sexual. Maybe, like you said, they were in the Mike Randall conspiracy together. The box is as much mine as yours, so why don’t you let me have a crack at it,” he clipped out.

  From the expression on his face, she knew that his thoughts had taken the same path as hers a few minutes earlier. Only she hadn’t been serious about cracking it open.

  “No!” She folded her arms around the box, but he easily snatched it out of her grasp. As soon as he had possession of the object, he hurled it across the room. It hit the kitchen wall and splintered, the pieces scattering to the tile floor.

  Molly screamed as she saw the box fly apart. Leaping up, she sprinted across the room, then stopped dead as she stared down at the pieces.

  Parts of the box were still intact. A kind of numb acceptance settled over her as she gingerly picked up a corner where two sections were joined.

  Behind her, Mark uttered a curse. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She heard his footsteps cross the room but she didn’t turn. From the corner of her eye, she watched him squatting to examine the ruin he’d created. When he lifted the corner piece from her fingers, she offered no resistance.

  For several moments they were both silent. Then he made a strangled sound. “It’s not an antique.”

  “What?”

  “Look at it.” He turned the piece so that the interior surface was facing her, and she saw the construction technique. An antique piece would have been joined by tongue-and-groove construction. Instead, there were small wooden wedges holding the sides together.

  “At least I didn’t break a priceless piece of art,” he muttered, reaching for more sections of wood. “It was a clever fake. They even made it look like some old ivory inlays were missing.”

  She picked up several pieces, searching for the places where the box would have slid open when the right combination of panels was pressed. She saw none. Mark seemed to be executing the same maneuver.

  “It looked like a puzzle box, but it wasn’t made to open,” she finally said. “I mean, I couldn’t get any sections to slide because there weren’t any. So I guess there wasn’t anything inside after all.”

  She moved so that she was sitting on a throw rug. Leaning back against a sideboard, she turned one of the pieces in her hand, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

  Mark came down beside her and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. I had no right to destroy your property.”

  She struggled to contain her emotions. Her grief over the last betrayal of her marriage should be private, yet she wanted to pour it out to Mark. “I was…I was so sure that…that Phil had left me a message. I guess he did. I guess he was telling me he wasn’t coming through with any help from the grave,” she said thi
ckly. On the last word, she lost control, and a sob of grief and anger roared through her.

  Mark reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She came to him, leaning against him, unable to do anything else.

  He rocked her, brushed his lips against her hair, her cheek, and she accepted the comfort as she gradually brought herself back under control.

  When the storm had subsided, she murmured, “Maybe smashing the box was a good thing. It shattered the last of my illusions about my marriage.”

  His fingers combed through her hair. “But I did it for the wrong reasons. I was angry and frustrated, and I took out my feelings on what I thought was an antique box.” He gestured toward the pieces of wood lying near the wall. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m some kind of raving maniac.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “No. I think you’re a guy who’s had a lot of control snatched away from him. With your wife’s murder and then the conviction and prison. But you wanted to be in the driver’s seat again, so you came back to Perry’s Cove with a plan. Only then, stuff started going wrong.”

  “It was a half-assed plan.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Why are you defending me?”

  “Because I feel like we’re finally speaking honestly.” She swallowed hard. “And because I care about you.”

  “I thought you were finished with me,” he said, his voice cracking as the words ended.

  Her hands stroked his back and shoulders, feeling his strong muscles quiver under her touch, and she knew that she had the power to affect him deeply. “So did I,” she murmured. “I guess I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Just now?”

  “In the car, I think. When you saw Cory Daniels and you kept driving at a normal speed.”

  “I was wishing like hell you weren’t in the back seat.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want you getting into any more trouble than you’re already in.”

  “I don’t feel like I’m in trouble. Not now.”

  “You are.”

  “No,” she answered, knowing the response wasn’t exactly rational. She was in big trouble. But all she wanted to do was push the doubts out of her mind. So she brought her mouth to his, a light touch that began as a healing balm but quickly built in passion as each of them increased the pressure.

  She opened her lips, and Mark made a low growling noise as his tongue entered her mouth and stroked against hers.

  She had been angry with him, hurt that he couldn’t see fit to trust her. Now all she wanted to do was cling to him. She closed her eyes and folded him tighter in her embrace, wanting to say so much more, yet sure the best way to tell him her feelings was through her actions.

  The kiss went on and on, sealing them together with a blast of heat, until they broke apart, both gasping for breath.

  He wrapped his arms around her and leaned back, lying on the rug and pulling her full length on top of him.

  She pressed her head to his shoulder, then adjusted her body against his so that his erection was right where she wanted it—in the aching cleft between her own legs.

  When she moved against him, he made a pleading, incoherent sound.

  “Yes,” she answered, the response purely automatic because passion was quickly taking her beyond words.

  “Too much,” he gasped, rolling to his side, lessening the intensity of the contact, even as his breath sawed in and out of his lungs.

  She felt him trembling, felt him struggling for control as he pressed his face into her hair.

  “Don’t hold anything back,” she managed to say. “I want everything you have to give me.” As she spoke she reached between them and found one of the buttons on his shirt. With unsteady fingers she slipped it open and then another, so that she could reach inside and flatten her hand against his chest, feel the frantic beating of his heart. It gave her a sense of power to know that she was stirring him so deeply. Yet at the same time she felt humble. He had needed her, and he hadn’t been afraid to admit that to her.

  Now she needed him just as much.

  He seemed to know that. He brought his mouth back to hers for a savage kiss, even as his hands pushed up her knit top and then her bra.

  When he clasped her breasts, she heard a small sound of pleasure rising form her throat. And again he was right with her, his fingers finding her stiff nipples and building her arousal to an even higher plateau.

  She gasped out his name, desperate as she found the buckle of his belt. When she’d freed him from the confines of his clothing, she took his hot, hard length in her hands and stroked him with a possessiveness that shocked her.

  “Now. Do it now,” she gasped, even as he slid her slacks down her body, taking her panties with them.

  He might have struggled out of his own slacks, but she didn’t give him the option. Desperately, she rolled to her back, then brought him to her, a small sob breaking from her lips as he entered her.

  Her hands glided under his shirt, over his naked back, clasping him to her, then slid down under the edge of his slacks to his buttocks, her fingers digging into his flesh as he began to move inside her.

  It was a wild, frantic ride. She reached her peak quickly, crying out as her orgasm ripped through her. She felt him join her in the stratosphere, heard his shout of masculine pleasure.

  He clasped her to him, rolling to his side as he held her in his arms. She closed her eyes, drifting on a warm wave of contentment as he held her. But when several minutes passed and he said nothing, she raised her face toward his.

  His gaze was fixed, as though he was staring at some scene she couldn’t see.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered.

  He stirred and seemed to come back to earth. “What’s okay?”

  “Making love. It was something we both wanted. And I didn’t give you any chance to back out.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  She reached to smooth a lock of damp hair back from his forehead. “It’s a pretty logical deduction. You’re thinking about when I found the mask. I was angry then, and I said things that were meant to hurt you. Now I want to be honest. I know we could have had an affair six years ago. But you were too honorable then. You’re still honorable. You’re feeling guilty about making demands on me. At least that’s the way you’re thinking about it. But you didn’t make any demands. I gave to you—and took pleasure in return.”

  “It’s not that simple. Are you going to let me get away with lying to you?”

  “I understand why you did it.”

  “What about flying off the handle and breaking that box you thought was a priceless antique?”

  “Yes. And we know it’s not.”

  “That doesn’t excuse me.” He moved to get up, but she pulled him back into her embrace.

  “We’ve got a bigger problem than a broken fake antique,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Too bad the guys in prison didn’t talk much about how an innocent man deals with a mess of bad guys.”

  SUNLIGHT WOKE Molly after much-needed sleep. Without disturbing Mark, who lay beside her, she gathered her discarded clothing and headed for the bathroom. There she used the facilities, then washed and finger-combed her hair.

  As she did, she stared at her flushed face. Lord, she had never gone through so many emotional swings in such a short time in her life. She had fallen for Mark Ramsey. Made love with him. Been hurt and angry. Then forgiven him. Now she wanted to think that their shared intimacy several hours ago had changed things between them. But she knew in her heart that was wishful thinking. She had said she knew what kind of man he was, and it was true. He still felt guilty about lying to her, and about flying off the handle. But the problem went deeper than that. Until only a few months ago he had been in prison. She knew the experience had damaged him in ways that she would never understand unless he opened up with her. Really opened up.

  Terrible things had been done to him, things that made it difficult
for him to react normally.

  She wanted to tell him that she had fallen in love with him. But she knew that would only make him feel more pressure.

  Again tears sprang to her eyes. This time she fought them off. She wasn’t reacting all that normally herself. She was a mess. And she wasn’t going to get much better until they figured out who had set Mike Randall up and who was after Mark Ramsey now.

  When she felt able to face Mark again, she started down the hall but found him in the office sitting at the computer.

  “I got a message from the Light Street Foundation,” he said, gesturing toward the screen. “They work in association with the Light Street Detective Agency. Apparently, one of their detectives, Alex Shane, had a case a few months ago where someone had appeared in a small town with a new identity. He said he’d check on Doris for me.”

  “Good.”

  “He may not be able to find anything.”

  “Don’t make assumptions.”

  While she was standing in back of him, another message came in. It was from Bill Bauder.

  Looking over Mark’s shoulder, she read the terse words. “I have some information for you. Meet me at eight-thirty tonight at the Voice office.”

  “How did he know your e-mail address?” she asked.

  “It was on the business card I gave Ray Myers when I was at the Sea Breeze Café. Probably everybody in town knows it.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “It could be a trap.”

  “Yeah. But I need some damn information, and maybe Bauder will give it to me,” he growled, then turned back to the computer screen.

  “Okay,” she murmured. After several seconds, she quietly exited the room. She wanted to tell Mark that if the two of them could just drive away from Perry’s Cove and never come back, maybe everything would turn out all right. But she knew he wouldn’t accept that solution.

  He had come here with a purpose, and that purpose had taken on a life of its own. He wasn’t going to give it up, not for her or anybody else. Even if it put him in danger.