One Night At A Time Page 6

  Nodding brusquely, he said, “Shannen told them you’re with her.”

  “I’ve got to call them.”

  Doug shook his head. “No can do.”

  Her hands formed a protective shield near her heart. Her chest rose and fell, in time with the strangled cadence of her words. “This is my family we’re talking about, Doug. Please understand that I need to talk to them, tell them I’m okay.”

  He shook his head.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Serious as a heart attack.” Doug steeled himself against the urge to give her anything she wanted. “We’re not playing cops and robbers, Arielle. This is psychological warfare—and you’re the trophy.”

  Her hands dropped, and she formed them into fists at her sides. She tilted her chin stubbornly, in a way he was coming to recognize. And intensely dislike.

  “You can’t prevent me from contacting them.”

  “I can. I will.” Then he succumbed to temptation. In a few seconds, he had her shoulders captured in his hands. His fingers dug into the softness of her as he inhaled the seductive scent of sunshine. Some of his tension scattered, and with effort, he drew on patience. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  Determination masked her vulnerability. “And that includes dictating my actions.”

  “When necessary.”

  She drew a shallow breath, then expelled it in a rush of frustration. “Just one call. I’ll keep it under a minute.”

  “He’s counting on you jumping. He could have tapped the phones, intercepted the mail. No doubt the house is being watched. He’s not sure he got you in the alleyway. Figures your parents will know whether he did the job or not The picture was a gamble to draw you out.

  “He’s dealing from the bottom of the deck, and we don’t have a handful of cards. The only game we can play is one of intelligence, staying one step ahead of him.”

  In the silence, Doug played the one card he had. “Don’t seal your parents’ warrant along with your own.”

  He absorbed her weight as energy rushed from her.

  Instantly he wanted the words back. Nothing was worth seeing that look of desperation flood back into her face.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered brokenly. “What have I done?”

  Doug wisely decided not to recite the events.

  Tears glistened on her eyelashes, but she resolutely blinked them away. “Everything I did was to spare my parents from further hurt.”

  Self-recrimination drowned her tone. Guilt.

  How well he knew the cost of that emotion.

  “We’ll protect them, Arielle,” he insisted. “But you have to play by my rules. And that means staying away from them. And no contact.”

  He watched emotions war inside her. From the tears of regret, to the frown of frustration, to the eventual gulp of resignation.

  “I want to call them the second it’s safe.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve got to know that you’ll do everything possible to protect my mom and dad. They should never have been a part of this. Please,” she asked quietly, “promise me.”

  Promises meant nothing when you were dealing with a hired assassin. Arielle’s disappearance had ticked the man off. The only thing worse than an assassin was an annoyed one.

  “Doug?”

  Years ago, Doug had made it a policy never to offer false hope. “I promise,” he said, surprised to realize he meant it. Then again, what man blessed with a reasonable amount of hormones could resist bedroom eyes, especially at the distance of six inches? He was lucky his heart didn’t forget its basic rhythm.

  “Thank you.”

  She straightened her shoulders and tipped back her head. Strength flowed through her, and he marveled at it, at her.

  He relaxed his hold, and she raised her hand, tracing her fingers down the side of his face. His earlier appointment with the razor had been worth the effort. He wouldn’t have wanted her abraded by the roughness of an overnight shadow. Nor would he have wanted to miss the lightness of her touch against shaved skin.

  Awareness sparked between them, their gazes locking. Abruptly, as if sensing the undercurrent that was as dangerous as a threat to her life, she turned, escaping from him. Smart woman.

  Within seconds, he saw that she’d entered the galley and started pulling pans from a cabinet, seemingly without reason, other than a desire to distract herself.

  “I’ll make us some breakfast,” Arielle said.

  “Pancakes?” he asked hopefully, after clearing his throat. Having this woman aboard was more dangerous than the call of a siren’s song.

  “Eggs.”

  “Over easy?”

  “Scrambled.”

  “My favorite,” he lied. At least cooking would give her something to do, keep her away from him...from the radio. Doug didn’t fool himself for a minute. She was resourceful, and had absorbed every lesson he’d given. If she decided to use the radio, she would, and nothing short of physical action would stop her...not that that idea was without merit.

  Doug returned to his cabin and dragged fresh clothes from a drawer, trying not to notice the subtle differences she’d made in his space.

  She’d made the bed—not with military precision—and halfheartedly plumped the pillow.

  The pillow on his side of the bed. Which meant she’d slept there, between the sheets that usually conformed to his naked body.

  Would the scent of her cling to the fabric and taunt him when he sailed south? Or would it saunter through his dreams on the rare occasions when he slept?

  Shoving aside ridiculous thoughts of wanting to finish the assignment—protect her until she was safe—Doug stripped off his shorts.

  When he returned to the galley, she was searching for plates. Seemed odd having her on board, the odd part being that he actually liked her presence...a fact he acknowledged with reluctance.

  Thankfully, she’d brewed a new pot of coffee, this one as strong as the ocean was deep, and just as black.

  He drank the first cup undoctored.

  “What’s the plan for today?” she asked when they were settled across from each other at the small table.

  In her voice, he heard an underlay of fear, but she’d quashed it from her body. Yesterday, she’d been hunched into herself, more terrorized than hopeful. Today, though, he saw the spine of steel. She’d taken the news about her parents as well as could be expected—trying to deal with the situation at hand.

  “We’ll rendezvous at eleven. Give Brian a chance to secure the premises and take care of everything he needs to do.”

  “And you’ll catch the next breeze out?”

  Spearing a forkful of scrambled eggs, he nodded. They tasted a whole lot better than any he’d ever put together. Maybe Rhone was right—maybe he should start looking for a wife.

  As quickly as the thought formed, he dismissed it. Loving was a hell of a risk. He wasn’t that brave anymore. Maybe he could hire a cook.

  He stopped eating, realizing she was looking at him.

  Softly, Arielle said, “I owe you my thanks.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “Does everyone fall for that line?”

  “Line?” He put down the fork.

  “You want people to think you don’t care. But you couldn’t do what you do without caring.”

  “Don’t fool yourself.”

  Arielle placed her silverware at the side of her plate. She met his stare without blinking. “Then why did you follow me out of your office?”

  “Because Rhone would have cut out my heart if something happened to you.”

  “But you want me to believe you don’t have one.”

  Impatience swelled like a gathering tidal wave. “Are you an amateur shrink?”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “I rescued a gifted and talented shrink?”

  “I’m not licensed.”

  She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, and he saw the goose bumps teasing the expo
sed flesh on her arms. She was cold—a bundle of nerves, he was certain—but still, she didn’t complain. He couldn’t have added many women to that list. “Listen, do us both a favor, leave the psychoanalyzing to someone else.” He lowered his voice and finished, “I like my secrets where they are. Buried.”

  “I wasn’t trying to psychoanalyze you.”

  “Then you’d be the first.” He excused himself, checked his watch, then prepared to sail. The weather report looked good—clear skies for the rest of the day.

  He was vaguely aware of her motions, clean and economical, as she straightened the galley and washed dishes. Ten minutes later, without so much as a glance in his direction, she disappeared down the passageway. Doug expelled a long breath, a breath he hadn’t known was searing into his lungs.

  Usually he treated women with the respect he inherently believed they deserved. But there was something about her, something that chased past his restraint. It was far more than physical beauty, it was that sense of a spirit he knew would never be broken.

  When she returned to the deck, her purse swung from her shoulder. A hint of cosmetics lengthened her lashes and highlighted her cheeks. Her hair was still cinched in a ponytail and secured with a rubber band. A pair of his sweatpants sagged at her waist, barely disguised by his T-shirt. Ready for departure.

  Pausing at the top of the stairs, she asked, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  “I don’t bite,” he said, maneuvering the wheel to compensate for a wave. “At least not after breakfast.”

  His comment passed without a response, and finally she tightened the sweatpants at the waist. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing these. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting my old clothes back on.”

  “They never looked like that on me.”

  She settled on one of the cushioned seats, placing her shoes and purse beside her. Arielle tipped back her chin, offering herself to the fall sunlight, reminding him again of the sea goddesses he’d fantasized about as a boy.

  Only years separated the boy from the man, he realized—not the dreams.

  And one thing was certain—in his dreams, he’d never turned his back on a beautiful woman, delivering her into the care of another man.

  “Right now, it’s almost possible to believe it’s all been a nightmare,” she said, the wind carrying her words toward him. “I just wish it were. I wish my parents weren’t scared, wish I could contact them, wish I could turn back the clock.”

  She sighed deeply, maybe from the soul, he thought.

  “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

  How many times had he made that last wish, too? Too damn many to count.

  She brought her head back into position and met his gaze. For a long moment, neither spoke.

  “Ten more minutes,” Doug said finally. Wanting to distract himself from the hypnotic power of her eyes, he added, “We’ll be using those ropes when we dock.”

  “Let me guess. I get to help.”

  “No free rides.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  The sight of his house, a haven in a world often gone crazy, made Doug smile. He’d had it built to his specifications, large and airy, safe and secure, serene and comfortable. It had been his dream, and an architect’s nightmare.

  “Is this home?” Arielle asked.

  “Vacation home.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  Yeah, it was. And so was the vision of the Bahamas.

  Doug eased Destiny into her slip as gently as he might slide satin from a woman’s shoulder.

  He and Arielle worked to secure the yacht, and he decided she made a good student...probably as good a student as she was a teacher. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to show her a few more things.

  When the yacht was bobbing securely against its lines, he checked his watch. Fifteen minutes early. By the time Brian arrived, Doug would be ready to head back out.

  As he waited for Arielle to slip on her shoes and gather her meager belongings, the wind shifted direction. An acrid odor—something burning?—lingered on the air. One thing was certain: It wasn’t a friendly neighborhood barbecue.

  The small hairs at his nape stirred.

  Trouble. He felt it.

  As if they didn’t already have enough.

  Chapter 5

  Doug exhaled in disgust. “Not again.” No rest for the wicked. Maybe before he died he’d make it to the Bahamas. Vowing to mend his ways, Doug instantly reached for his gun and looked over his shoulder toward Arielle.

  “Doug?” she asked on a short breath. “What’s wrong?”

  How did you explain a hunch to a woman who dealt in facts? “Stay close to me,” he advised, wanting her within a couple of feet. “Got it?”

  She nodded.

  He stepped onto the dock, then turned and offered her his free hand. Her fingers, slender and chilled, met his touch. Although she was trying to radiate strength and courage, her body betrayed her. Doug offered a half smile, one that didn’t quite communicate a belief that everything would be okay.

  He released her and palmed his gun, narrowing his eyes as he turned toward the house. Everything appeared normal. But Doug knew how deceptive appearances could be.

  If his guess was right, his second home had received unexpected visitors. Sure wouldn’t be Lady Luck paying her respects, he knew. She’d been pretty scarce lately.

  Instead of a destination, the Bahamas were becoming a blurred vision. Maybe in his next life...

  Doug debated his options. He needed to be certain their visitor was gone, but he didn’t dare leave Arielle alone, on the off chance that they still had company. He could set sail again, but in the time it took to pull out, they’d run the risk of being sitting ducks.

  And he’d never been much for quacking.

  After sweeping his glance across the expanse of land, he quietly said to Arielle, “Follow my every order to the letter, no questions, no discussion. Understood?”

  Arielle hugged herself. But, unlike yesterday, she didn’t hunch forward. Unaccountably, he was proud of her. Trust, it seemed, had given her hope. Doug watched her swallow hard, waiting until she gave him the only answer he would accept. When she complied, he smiled, then motioned her forward.

  A current of energy, the primal sense of anticipation that always accompanied the challenge of the chase, surged through him.

  Like a bloodhound hot on the trail, Doug focused on his surroundings, tuned out distractions, listening for anything other than the surf, birds or wind. In the Middle East, he’d learned to hear someone approaching across the sand. In Central America, he’d learned to pick out the slither of a snake above whispered conversation. And in New York City, he’d learned to turn it all off occasionally and actually go to sleep.

  Surveying the landscape, Doug noticed crushed blades of grass. The invasion of his sanctuary rankled. And the possibility loomed that the visitor wasn’t random, which would mean they were being targeted, hunted.

  And, more, that would mean Arielle’s assassin knew Doug was protecting her...and had done enough research to suspect he would be taking her to his home.

  Fear for her stirring a sensation of awareness, he grabbed for her with his free hand. Her purse slung forward, bumping into him.

  “Sorry,” she said softly, the sound of her voice seeming to thunder in the stillness.

  He should make her leave the small suitcase behind, but he had enough experience with women to know better.

  She hitched the purse back onto her shoulder, and Doug looked at her squarely. “Don’t let go of me.”

  She nodded.

  Doug started toward the fencing. The feel of her, soft, feminine and trusting, seared into him. He’d betrayed another woman’s trust before.

  And the memory taunted him.

  He didn’t deserve blind trust. Not hers, not anyone’s. But he was all that stood between her and death. He’d take a bullet himself before he let anything happen to her.

  Determ
ined to get her out of her situation alive, Doug blinked himself back to a clear focus. Distraction was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But all of a sudden he had more sympathy for Rhone’s plight when Rhone had thought his wife was dead. Women—life’s biggest reward, life’s biggest challenge.

  Near the fence, charred grass surrounded unrecognizable metal. Releasing her, he bent and frowned. The scent of destruction from the semimelted silver was cloying.

  He turned the flattened metal over, barely able to make out the remnants of a brand name he recognized.

  “What is it?” Arielle asked.

  “Spray paint.”

  “It looks like it was blown up.”

  “It was.” A question gnawed at him: Why bother? “He’s not subtle,” Doug said. Taking her hand again, he continued toward the fence.

  Five feet away, he rounded a corner, stopped and sucked in a breath.

  Red oozed down the pickets, in stark contrast to virgin white.

  Each letter was perfectly formed, as if the bloodlike streaks beneath had been intentionally drawn.

  Tension gnawed in Doug’s gut.

  Semper fidelis.

  The same words his ex-friend Samuel Pickins had screamed as he was led away, handcuffs blinking beneath fluorescent lighting. “Semper fi, and die!” he’d yelled.

  Doug cursed. Pickins had promised revenge...sworn he’d live, if only for that.

  Damn.

  The visitor wasn’t Arielle’s assassin. Instead, Doug had blindly brought her into a trap laid for him.

  In his desperation to save her, he’d committed a huge tactical error. Blindly, he had endangered Arielle’s life... and history was replaying itself with sickening clarity.

  He owed her an explanation, owed her so much.

  “Semper fidelis,” Arielle said.

  Her words shattered his thoughts.

  “Isn’t that the Marine Corps’s motto?”

  Doug dragged himself from the blur of memory, as well as from the debilitating cloud of guilt. He needed to be sharp—it was the only hope he had of saving her. He would no doubt play the mental game with himself later, but as for now, Pickins wouldn’t win, because Doug wouldn’t let him. Senses alert and honed, he said, “Always faithful.” Then he straightened, glancing toward the house.