by Sara Orwig
Words failed her, and she simply entered the bedroom and closed the door in his face.
Then she felt idiotic. She should have said something and not acted like a kid with a first kiss. But it was too late to open the door and start a conversation now.
Dazed and flustered, she stared at the closed door. No wonder he left hearts broken everywhere. It wasn’t fair. He was too handsome, had a smile that would melt a glacier and had kisses that could seduce the coldest and wisest heart.
She moved to a rocker and sat down, staring into space. Closing her eyes, she remembered his kiss. He probably hadn’t even enjoyed kissing her. Goodness knows, he had stopped fast enough! Oh, my. What a kiss! She had turned down a dinner date with him. She wanted to jump up, run to his bedroom and tell him yes, she’d go to dinner with him. Except she couldn’t. She didn’t want to be just another one of his conquests, and she suspected if the number of them were known, it would be a Guinness record. Maybe not that many. He seemed sort of a nice guy. Her lips still tingled, and she had other things to think about, but for the next hour, she was just going to sit here and remember the best kiss of her life.
An hour later the house was quiet and dark. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she had rummaged around and found little things she thought she might use: a paper clip she straightened, a nail file. She dressed in her dark sweats again with a cap on and she opened the door of her bedroom and lay down on the floor. Carefully, taking time, she slithered into the hall. The alarm system would either be one of those heat-sensor ones or it wouldn’t. If it was a garden-variety motion detector, it might not pick up movement very low to the floor.
Expecting the siren to scream at any second, she inched her way, moving her arm so carefully and then the other arm. Next she slid her body, trying to stay pressed as close against the floor as possible and to move as slowly as possible. Her ears felt as if they were growing as she strained for the slightest sound.
She was thankful his hall floor wasn’t carpeted. Instead, he had a plank floor that made it easy for her to slide along. With her body weight spread, there were no creaking boards either. Pray the man slept soundly and for hours longer!
If the alarm went off, she was going to make a run for it, but after covering five yards and no alarm, she thought maybe she would make it all the way to the back door and the alarm keypad.
Sleep, sleep, she silently urged Jason. Perspiration poured off her face and she was on fire in the hot sweats and clinging cap. It seemed hours and miles to the back door.
When she reached the back entryway, she wondered how long it had taken her. She was afraid the sun would be coming over the horizon. As a rancher, he probably rose before the sun, so she wanted to be out of the house as soon as possible. She wiped perspiration from her face on the sleeve of her shirt. She was hot, miserable and tense.
She neared the keypad. If the alarm system was typical and this door was keyed in as the entry door, she would have some thirty seconds to turn it off before the alarm would go off. But with her first movement, it would begin emitting tiny beeps that might wake him. She thought about the numbers she had watched him punch. If she got them wrong, all her effort would be for nothing and he would be after her and catch her before she could reach his pickup. The man was a very fast runner.
Taking a deep breath, she stood and swiftly punched the combination of numbers she had watched him use. As her fingers flew over the keypad, there were four tiny beeps from the alarm, and she prayed he slept soundly.
Without looking back, she unlocked and opened the door. As soon as it opened, it set off another three small beeps, but no loud alarm went off when she stepped into the cool night. Taking a deep gulp of air and half expecting him to clamp a hand on her shoulder or tackle her again, she raced to his truck. Thank Brother Hank for teaching her how to hot-wire a car.
Seconds later, the motor roared to life, and she grinned.
“Whoo hoo!” she yelled when she put the pickup in gear. “So long, cowboy. You’ll get your pickup back later today!”
She floored the accelerator, skidded and settled to a speed that stirred up a plume of dust as she laughed triumphantly and raced away from Jason’s house.
While she drove into town, she planned her next move—another little annoying reminder to Dorian Brady that he had not gotten away with his schemes without any reprisals.
Sometime soon, she intended to confront Dorian about Holly’s broken heart, but she knew he would just deny that he knew anything about Holly and say that he had never been engaged.
Her smile of triumph over escape vanished as she thought about Dorian and Sebastian and all Jason had told her about Wescott Oil. Could Dorian be behind a murder and the attempted effort to frame Sebastian Wescott?
Feeling chilled, Merry realized she might be dealing with a very dangerous man. If he was involved in murder, then his dirty dealings went far beyond lying to Holly and stealing Holly’s money and trying to frame Sebastian. Holly was fortunate the man was out of her life. Merry hoped the day would come when Holly would see that.
The more Merry thought about Dorian and Wescott Oil, the more certain she became that Dorian had to be the murderer. No one would believe her, though. She didn’t have one degree of proof; just because he had deceived Holly and taken her money, that didn’t make him a murderer. Merry wished now she had asked Jason more questions about the murder.
When she reached town, the eastern sky had the faintest gray tinge. She parked the pickup in front of the Royal sheriff’s office. That way, if Jason reported it stolen, they would find it quickly. She climbed out, locked the pickup and walked swiftly down Main Street to the Royalton Hotel where she left word at the desk that under no circumstances was she to be disturbed. So much for Mr. Jason Windover.
In the dark of his bedroom Jason slept, dreaming an erotic fantasy about Merry Silver until dreams spun into empty reality. In the dim recesses of waking he was aware of a motor. And then he was fully awake.
For a full two seconds he stared into darkness while he listened to the roar of a motor that was rapidly fading away. Then Jason lunged out of bed because he recognized the sound of his own pickup.
He didn’t think it was one of the hands leaving in the dead of night, and none of them would have taken his pickup without asking. Jason yanked on briefs, glanced at the house alarm and stopped in his tracks as he stared at the steady green light that meant the alarm was turned off.
“What the hell?” he asked no one. He ran, yanking open the door to the bedroom next to his and staring at the neatly made empty bed. He raced down the hall in his briefs, plunging through the back door and outside to stare at where his pickup had been parked. A cloud of dust still hung over the road.
“How the hell did she get out?” he snarled, running his hand through his hair. “Dammit, wildcat.”
She couldn’t be far down the road. As he hurried inside and returned to his room to yank on his jeans, he mulled over his choices. He could turn in his pickup as stolen and have her thrown in jail. He could go after her, but she had a head start and he suspected she would drive fast.
“Dammit,” he swore again. The woman was more trouble than a basket filled with snakes. She might not even return to Royal. She might be headed to Dallas. He didn’t think she would keep his pickup, though, and she had a car somewhere in Royal, he was certain.
He yanked on a T-shirt, pulled on his boots and began to stuff his pockets with his wallet and keys. He could drive the car into town. He didn’t know how she had managed to get to his keypad to turn off the alarm without setting it off, but he realized that when they’d arrived at the ranch, he had been careless in turning off the alarm. He hadn’t tried to hide the code from her because he didn’t think she was paying attention anyway. And he hadn’t thought she would have any chance to use the code.
What was one of the first things he had been taught? Don’t underestimate the enemy. Well, he had grossly underestimated this little enemy. Damn, s
he was trouble! She wasn’t doing anything except annoying Dorian and the rest of the club members. Jason grimaced. She was annoying the hell out of him. He remembered kissing her. He didn’t want to remember because her kiss had all but melted his teeth. Her kiss had gone deeper than just hot—stirring some feeling that was totally foreign to him. He had to get her out of Royal and out of his hair.
He locked up and jogged to the garage, swearing under his breath. Here he was in the dead of night, his pickup stolen, outsmarted by a five-foot bit of trouble—that was embarrassing. He thought of the foreign assignments he’d had, the assignments with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. He had been up against the toughest of the tough and here this little five-foot wildcat had outwitted him—his own damn fault for underestimating her.
He should have slapped handcuffs on her and made her spend the whole night beside him. And then he really wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. He didn’t want to think about her kisses or her body or those great big smokey eyes or her soft lips that set him on fire. He was not going to think about any of that. He backed out of the garage, turned the car and raced up the road for the highway, trying to shake thoughts out of his mind that he didn’t want there.
He should just call the sheriff and turn her in and let her rot in a jail cell. It would serve her right. He thought about her silky skin that was raw and skinned because he had tackled her and he knew he couldn’t have her arrested and thrown in jail.
“You’re getting soft, Windover,” he told himself. The hell he was. He was getting hard just thinking about her and her delicious mouth. He swore and pressed the accelerator and wondered what she would do next.
As he cruised Main Street, he spotted his pickup. In spite of his aggravation, he had to grin because she had parked it squarely in the sheriff’s reserved parking spot.
Watching for her, Jason cruised down Main until he reached the Royalton. He turned into the lot and let a valet have the keys. Inside the quiet hotel with its potted palms, plush oriental carpets and high ceilings, Jason strolled to the desk, his pulse jumping with satisfaction when he recognized the stocky blond clerk behind the desk.
“Morning, Mr. Windover.”
“Hi, Stan. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been here almost a year now.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stan, what room is Meredith Silver in? I need to talk to her.”
Stan frowned and looked uncomfortable. “She said no one was to disturb her. I’m sorry.”
“All I want to do is talk. You know I wouldn’t harm a woman.”
“Oh, no, sir!”
Jason pulled out his wallet, withdrew a fifty-dollar bill and carefully folded it and slid it across the counter. “Just tell me the room number. I’m not asking for a key. I just want to slip a note under her door or talk to her if she will talk.”
“Mr. Windover, gee.” The fifty had already disappeared into Stan Fogarty’s hand. “It’s room three-one-seven. But I didn’t tell you.”
“Thanks, Stan. She won’t ever know that you told me. I promise, no trouble.”
“I hope not, sir.”
Jason crossed the lobby, entered the hall and took the stairs. In minutes he was in front of her room. He pulled a small wire from his pocket, picked the lock and quietly turned the knob.
The room was dark and he slid inside, closing the door behind him without a sound. Ready to get revenge, he switched on the light.
Jason blinked and stared at the smoothly made bed. He spun around, looking into the bathroom, the closet, the rest of the room. There was no luggage, nothing. Had she gone back to Dallas? In the early hours of the morning? Where was she? And had she given up pestering Dorian? She hadn’t checked out or Stan would have told him. She had left orders not to be disturbed. He had a gut feeling the woman was still right in Royal, but if so, where was she?
Jason knew that he had underestimated her at every turn and it was beginning to annoy him. He better start thinking that he was up against a very intelligent operative instead of five feet of aggravating fluff. He circled the room again. He could smell her perfume. He glanced in the bathroom. A wet cloth hung over a rack. She had been in here, but was gone.
Feeling ridiculous, he looked under the bed and searched the closet that held nothing except extra pillows and an ironing board. Finally, he switched off the light and went downstairs.
“Stan, has Miss Silver checked out?”
“No, sir. She just said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Well, I didn’t disturb her, so you can relax. Tell you what,” he said, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. “If you see her again,” Jason scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it with the ten to the clerk, “will you call me on my cell phone?”
“Sure. You don’t have to give me any more money.”
“Keep it. Thanks for your help.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Windover. Anytime.”
Jason walked out and waited to get his car. When the valet brought it and stepped out, holding open the door, Jason noticed a small square of white paper fluttering beneath the windshield wiper. It was not the time of night or day for anyone to be advertising or selling something. And he hadn’t been parked illegally. He pulled out the note and looked at the neat printing. “Your pickup is in front of the jail. Thanks for the loan of it.”
He wanted to kick a tire, but he had the disgusting feeling she was somewhere watching him and laughing and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. He swore quietly and steadily, every word in his native tongue and a few in other languages that he knew.
“Sir, is something wrong?” the valet asked.
“Sorry, no.” He tipped the man and climbed into his car, then looked up at the Royalton. Every window was either dark or if a light burned, the drapes were pulled. He couldn’t spot anyone looking out a window, but he couldn’t see them all from inside the car. He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Dammit!” Where was the wildcat? And what would she do next?
Four
Filled with reluctance, later that morning Jason strode into the quiet, elegant meeting room at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Coffee was served in the tall silver samovar on a sterling silver tray. Thin-bone china cups edged in gold with the club crest were beside the silver service.
Within a few minutes all eyes were on him as Sebastian stated, “Dorian’s tire was slashed. We assume you apprehended Meredith Silver after that. Now, have you sent her back to wherever she came from or is she still out at your ranch?”
While the question hung in the air, Jason could feel his face flush. He rubbed his fingers along the soft denim covering his bent knee. “She’s not at my ranch.”
“So?” Rob coaxed. “Where is she?”
Jason faced ten pairs of curious eyes. “I don’t know where the hell she is,” he grumbled, and Rob let out a whoop.
“Could it be a woman has gotten the best of our resident playboy?”
“Dammit—” Jason started, but then they were all laughing.
“Our CIA agent has been given the slip by a slip of a girl—” Sebastian said, grinning.
“By a little wildcat,” Jason remarked, knowing he would have to endure their teasing. “I sort of underestimated her. I’ll find her—”
“How long ago did you ‘lose’ her?” Rob asked, grinning broadly.
“I’ll find her soon enough.”
“Find her before she does some other damn mischief. I had to buy a new tire,” Dorian snapped, looking less than amused, but the others were still laughing.
“You may have to go back to the CIA for a little more training on how to secure and hold your prisoner,” Rob needled, still chuckling.
“When did you last see her?” Sebastian asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Last night she was at my ranch—”
“She got away from you at your ranch?” Rob asked incredulously. “How’d she do that? I thought you had an
alarm system.”
“I do—”
More laughter drowned out his statement, and Jason grinned. “I’ll find the wildcat today,” he assured them.
Rob’s smile faded. Looking relaxed, he sat back in his leather chair, but Jason noticed that Rob was intently studying each man. “On a serious note, there’s something we have to discuss. We’re trying to discover what we can about Eric’s murder. Sebastian has been cleared of the charges against him, but there is still a murderer loose in Royal. And for reasons I don’t want to go into right now, it looks as if there may be a mole in our organization.” The words wiped all amusement off every face and felt like an icy wind sweeping through the room. A chill ran down Jason’s spine as he instantly thought of Dorian, but kept his attention on Rob who continued to gaze solemnly at each of them in turn.
“How can we discover who it is?” Keith Owens asked, his brown-eyed gaze circling the room.
“I suppose all suspicion lands immediately on me,” Dorian announced. “The rest of you have known each other for a lifetime and now this crazy woman is accusing me of things I haven’t done.”
“No one is making any accusations at this point,” Rob said. “We just need to be more alert.”
They continued discussing the problems at Wescott Oil, but the conversation wasn’t as free as before, Jason noted and the group soon broke up with suggestions on how to catch his quarry and more good-natured teasing. Before they disbanded, he managed to ask Rob to wait a few minutes.
As soon as they were the only two left in the room, Jason closed the door. “I want to tell you what I learned from Merry.”
Rob burst out laughing again. “How’d she get past your alarm?”
“It’s a thousand years old, and I’m having a new one installed today. Dad put that other one in when I was a kid.”
“You didn’t take her car keys?”
“Shut up, Rob, and let me tell you something.”
Grinning, Rob nodded. “Go ahead.”
