The Honeymoon Assignment Page 7

  Kelley made another mental note next to Susan’s name. Firm in trouble recently, it said. Check it out. Was it possible that Susan and Jon might have turned to counterfeiting to make up for a dip in Susan’s income?

  “You should consider buying a vacation place, too,” Susan suggested. “I heard the prices on the Windspray properties are probably dropping again soon. You should make an offer.” She glanced over her shoulder at Sam. “Judging by how uptight that man of yours looks, you two need some kind of getaway.”

  “He’s just not crazy about boats,” Kelley said, recalling Sam’s words on the subject when she’d told him about the planned excursion. “He says he’d rather be on a bucking bronco any day—at least that way you know you’re going to land on solid ground if you get tossed off.”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “Has he really ridden broncos?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Kelley had to smile at the other woman’s obvious awe. “According to Sam, riding wild horses and Brahma bulls is the simplest thing in the world,” she went on. “He says you always know where you stand with them. They want you off their backs, and that’s that.”

  People, he’d always added, were a hell of a lot harder to figure out. But she didn’t share that part of Sam’s philosophy with Susan Gustaffson.

  She didn’t get a chance to share anything else, either, because Wayland Price was approaching them, insinuating himself into the small space between them at the railing. “And why are you two lovely ladies hiding over here away from your husbands?” he asked.

  Susan rolled her eyes behind Wayland’s back. “We’re just talking girl talk, Wayland,” she said. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  Wayland leaned his arms on the railing. “It’s got to be more interesting than listening to my mother go on about how hard it is to get good help these days,” he said. “If I hear one more harangue about that new handyman—”

  “Which handyman?” Kelley asked.

  “The redheaded one, whatever his name is.”

  “Helen doesn’t like him?”

  Wayland shook his head. Kelley couldn’t read the expression behind his shiny sunglasses. “She says he’s shifty, whatever the heck that means,” he said. “Dad hired him because the guy was willing to work cheap in exchange for a place to live. But my mother’s convinced he’s got an unreliable look, and she wants to let him go. Can you imagine a personnel director at your company hiring and firing on that basis, Susan? Or at—what was the bank you said you work for, Kelley?”

  “First Austin Savings and Loan,” Kelley said, naming her old employer and hoping Wayland wasn’t curious enough about her to check it out. “And I forget what it is that you do, Wayland,” she added.

  Wayland’s conversation yesterday had mostly been about Cairo and his family’s long-standing connection with the little town, and about his own marital woes with a lengthening list of ex-wives. He didn’t seem any more eager now to talk about his work.

  “Oh, I’m a consultant,” he said. “I do some of this and some of that.”

  A lot of the people Cotter Investigations had helped to put behind bars had done “some of this and some of that.” And “consultant” could be the vaguest job description in the world, when you wanted it to be, Kelley thought.

  “I’ve often thought about going into consulting,” she said. “Does it pay well?”

  “Depends on the field.” Wayland had suddenly become taciturn.

  “And what field do you specialize in?”

  “Oil.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “Anywhere in particular that you—”

  He didn’t let her finish the question. “It’s far too nice a day to be talking about work,” he said, suddenly flourishing that brilliant smile of his.

  “I’m really interested,” Kelley insisted. “Who have you worked for?”

  “If you’re really interested, I’ll print up a copy of my résumé when we get back to shore.” Wayland seemed increasingly eager to change the subject. “And I insist that we stop discussing business. We should be enjoying this gorgeous day. And my mother, while she may be a trifle conservative when it comes to hiring maintenance men, does lay in provisions for a boat trip better than anyone else I know. Can I get either of you a glass of wine? Or rub some suntan lotion on for you? I wouldn’t want to see either of you lovely blondes go home with a sunburn.”

  “I heard that, Wayland.” Jon Gustaffson appeared behind his wife, sliding his arms around her. Jon was tall and boyish, with a ready grin and an ingenuous manner. “I’ll have you know I personally slathered this woman from head to foot with sunscreen before we came aboard, and I’m standing by to do touch-up work whenever she needs it.”

  Susan giggled and relaxed into her husband’s embrace. “It’s true, Wayland,” she said. “And pregnant ladies aren’t supposed to drink wine, so you’re out of luck on both offers. But I would take you up on a soda, if you’ve got one.”

  As the Gustaffsons and Wayland moved toward the galley, Kelley considered staying with them, then decided it was more important to talk to Sam while he was by himself. She headed for the cockpit and slipped off her sunglasses as she took a seat across from him.

  The prow of the boat was lined with white moldedfiberglass benches, from which an adventurous passenger could look directly down at the hull slicing through the blue water, churning up white crests every time it met an oncoming wave. Above them, the tall sails were filled taut, and the little pennant at the tip of the mast rippled in the breeze, bright red against the blue and white patchwork of sky and clouds.

  It should have made Kelley feel free and euphoric. But the memory of last night’s adventure, and the terror she’d wakened into, kept seeping into the sunlit present, darkening her own mood as it had so plainly darkened Sam’s.

  At least she was doing her best to cover it up. But she frowned as her eyes met his, and said, “You know, there’s a rumor going around that you and I aren’t getting along very well.”

  “Who says so?”

  “Susan Gustaffson, for one. She just had a little heartto-heart with me about it.”

  “Hell.”

  She waited, but that was apparently all Sam had to say. “Thanks,” she said finally. “That’s very helpful.”

  “Why don’t you just tell them I’m an antisocial bastard and there’s very little you or anyone can do about it?” He leaned his head back against the railing as he spoke, closing his eyes.

  Kelley reached down into her beach bag and pulled out a tube of sunscreen. She prodded Sam in the ribs with the end of the tube, startling his eyes open again. The surprise in them gave her more satisfaction than she’d expected.

  “That doesn’t reflect very well on my taste in men, does it?” she said. “It would be better if you just went along with the program.”

  “Your program, you mean.”

  “At least I’ve got one.”

  She felt her temper flash and hung on hard to that spurt of irritation. Anger, frustration, even bitterness—all of that was safer than letting herself be drawn into the awareness of how close he was, how the clearly defined muscles shifted in his thighs when he sat up, how the heat in his dark blue eyes was affecting her heart rate.

  “At least I’m not trying to stick my head in the sand and pretend you don’t exist,” she added, holding out the tube of sunscreen. “We need to get on with this, Sam. Harold’s banker only gave him until the beginning of next week, in case you’d forgotten.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten.” He ground the words out as though they tasted bad.

  “Good. Then let’s do what we’re here to do. And you can start by rubbing some of this on my back for me. It’s the kind of thing husbands do for their wives.”

  “Rub some of—” He looked suspiciously at the tube she’d put in his palm. “Why does this have to be a husband’s job?” he wanted to know.

  Kelley turned her back to him, lifting her fine hair clear of her shoulders and tilting her head forward sligh
tly. “Most new husbands are looking for excuses to touch their wives,” she told him, thinking of Jon’s fond expression when he’d looked at Susan a few minutes ago. “Just do it, all right, Sam? And try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

  He seemed to take a long time getting the lid off the tube. Kelley felt the warm breeze buffeting her, swirling her hair around her face as though it shared her restless sense that they needed to do this and get it over with. She was about to suggest that Sam hurry it up when he finally moved.

  And the moment he touched her, Kelley’s impatience turned to something quite different.

  He curled his fingers around her left shoulder, holding her upper body still. With his other hand he smoothed sunscreen all the way across her shoulders, then began a slow massaging motion that caught her completely off guard.

  She hadn’t expected him to touch her as though he meant it.

  She hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel to have his long fingers digging so gently, so knowingly, into her skin. She felt something inside herself unclenching at the rhythm of it. Sam’s hands seemed to release tensions she hadn’t even realized she was holding inside her.

  “I—have a feeling Wayland’s employment record is going to be worth checking out.” It was hard to get the words out as Sam’s thumb and index finger followed a long, slow line up her spine.

  “You have a feeling.” Was it contempt she was hearing under the bass rumble of his voice?

  “Yes. He seems—evasive about it. And you always said—”

  “Go with your gut feelings. I know.” He paused to put more sunscreen on his palm, then resumed the slow movements that felt more and more like caresses. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind about that.”

  Kelley wanted to close her eyes and let Sam’s touch lull her into a pleasantly sensual haze. But his words were puzzling. “Why have you changed your mind?” she demanded.

  “I just have.”

  “Come on, Sam. That’s not—”

  “All right.” His voice grated over the words. “Let’s just say that I’ve come to respect the value of cold, hard facts over any number of gut feelings. That’s all.”

  There were questions she should be asking him, Kelley thought. Was it that night at the warehouse that had changed his philosophy so radically? Was it Kelley’s own mistakes—mistakes her gut feelings had prompted her to make—that made Sam so determined to stick to cold, hard facts now?

  There was just one problem.

  The only question she really cared about at the moment was the one about why he was leaning closer to her as he spoke.

  She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with the brisk sea breeze. He’d encountered the curve of her shoulder now, and he paused, as though he’d just discovered buried treasure and wasn’t sure whether to share the news with anyone. His thumbs traced the angle of her shoulder blade in an appreciative, deliberate way, pulling Kelley back into her own forbidden memories of how thoroughly Sam Cotter could love a woman.

  “I don’t suppose you could have brought a less—revealing bathing suit with you.” His words were even rougher than usual.

  Kelley made herself sit up a little straighter, trying to counteract the liquid pleasure of Sam’s palms against her skin. The sun had gone behind a cloud momentarily, and the sudden cooling of the air made it even more tempting to lean back into the warmth of his touch.

  “Wiley didn’t exactly give me a lot of notice about this job,” she told him. “There wasn’t time to go shopping.”

  And anyway, her one-piece aquamarine bathing suit had never struck her as particularly daring until just this moment. It was only when Sam started to move his hands again, gliding along the length of her spine and circling back up from the soft hollow at the small of her back, that she realized how much of her body was on view.

  She shivered as she tilted her head forward again. She wished she could blame her trembling on the clouds that were covering the sun, but she knew better.

  Sam’s fingertips were pushing under the elasticized edges of her suit now. The sensation was intensely suggestive, wholly erotic. Kelley closed her eyes without meaning to, suddenly lost in images of the way Sam’s long, masculine hands must look against the whiteness of her skin.

  “Sam—”

  “Yeah?”

  Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Don’t ever stop. The familiar strength of his touch felt too good. And his voice at her ear was like another caress, one that raced right through Kelley’s frame and ignited brush fires all along the way.

  But she couldn’t give in to this. She just couldn’t. She’d gone through it in her mind before facing Sam over breakfast this morning, and there were too many good reasons why she needed to keep her distance.

  “Apparently—” If her own voice would work properly, this would be easier, she thought. She tried again. “Apparently Helen Price thinks there’s something shady about that handyman, Steve Cormier.”

  “Shady how?”

  “Wayland didn’t say. I thought I’d see if I can find out when we stop for lunch.”

  “Get facts, then. Not just Helen’s notions.”

  Kelley frowned and waited for irritation to seep into the pleasantly relaxed mood Sam’s hands had created.

  It didn’t happen.

  In fact, it was beginning to occur to her that she was actually enjoying arguing with Sam Cotter. Just as she always had.

  “Don’t worry, Sam,” she told him. “I know a fact when I see one.” And she still listened to her gut feelings, too, she added silently. Just because Sam seemed to have retreated into some cut-and-dried world where hard facts were the only thing that mattered—

  He was pausing now, one hand still holding her shoulder, the other resting at the base of her neck. “You’re not letting this go, are you?” he said.

  She turned to face him. “Why should I?” she asked.

  His quick smile had no mirth in it. “Hell’s bells, sweetheart, somebody nearly killed you last night.”

  “Whoever it was, they tried to kill you, too.”

  He waved that off as though it didn’t matter. “We’re not talking about me,” he said.

  They’d both shifted positions by now. Sam had one leg planted on either side of Kelley, virtually imprisoning her where she sat at the edge of the fiberglass bench. When she glanced down, the hard, sinewy length of his thighs seemed too long for the small space of the cockpit.

  She was astonished at how she was aching for that sham back rub to go on and on. But although it was important to convince the other passengers that their husband-and-wife act was for real, it was just as important to clear up the questions they hadn’t yet found good answers to.

  The sun came back out, brilliant as before. Somehow the brightness of its glare on the water made it easier to summon up the determination Kelley needed.

  “Do you really think I would just walk away from this case?” she asked him.

  He gave a quick shrug. “If you had any sense you would.”

  “Then why are you staying?”

  “To get the job done.”

  That laconic style of his had always gotten on her nerves, especially when the turbulent look in his eyes told her he was just blowing smoke, trying to cover up whatever was really going on inside him.

  “You mean you’re staying because of your professional pride,” she said.

  “If you want to put it that way.”

  “Does it ever occur to you that I might have my pride, too?” she demanded. “Or that ever since the last time we worked together, my professional pride might be more important to me than ever?”

  “More important than your safety? More important than your life?”

  She hadn’t even noticed when he’d taken hold of her hands, wrapping them in the broad palms that had given her such illicit pleasure just minutes earlier.

  “There are days,” she said slowly, picking her way across an emotional mine field that she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to c
ross quite so soon, “when my job is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.”

  Something in Sam’s eyes flared at that, like a wild horse shying away from fire. But he didn’t speak, not yet.

  “This job is what keeps me going,” she went on, glancing away from his face for a moment. “I care a lot about it.” She paused. “I care too much to leave it half-done.”

  His words, when he finally grated them out, were the last thing she expected. They sounded hoarse, almost hostile. But there was no hostility in his eyes when she looked up at him again.

  “You deserve better.”

  Suddenly she recognized the sound she was hearing in his voice. It was anger—the same anger she’d been feeling for the past three years—anger at her own stupidity, at fate, at the whole unhappy chain of events that had led her here.

  And she didn’t want it.

  She didn’t want to let Sam’s anger open up all the things she’d worked so hard to keep under control. Most of all, she didn’t want his pity.

  Damn it, they both deserved better. But thanks to her inexperience, her overconfident belief in her own abilities, they’d been cheated out of the happiness they’d hoped for.

  And the buried outrage in Sam’s voice was reminding her of all of that. His touch had aroused her in some very dangerous ways, and his strength, in the dark reaches of last night’s confusion, had been more welcome than she could have imagined possible.

  But his sympathy made her mad.

  “Let’s not get into that, Sam, all right?” she said, starting to slide farther back onto the bench as she pulled her hands away from his.

  Or at least she tried to slide away, tried to pull her hands free. Sam wasn’t letting her move, wasn’t breaking the intensely blue glare he had caught her in.

  “Damn it, Kelley—”

  She gave a more strenuous tug, noticing that the boat underneath them seemed to have stopped pitching some time ago without her noticing it. They were gliding into calmer waters, heading for the cove for lunch.