For Her Eyes Only (5 page)

Guy trouble? He’d never figured Vicky for a runner. Hell, he’d seen enough of her to think that whenever there was a problem, she’d roll up her sleeves and deal with it. But then, he didn’t really know how she handled her man troubles. Didn’t want to.

He shrugged. “Fine. Are we ready to go now?”

She nodded and bent to snatch up her tote and a white parka with a faux fur-trimmed collar, and Ryan tried not to crane his neck for a better look. But he did. And was rewarded with the sight of the black lacy edge of her bra cupping two pert breasts. Vicky might be out of bounds, a pest and his personal pain point, but he wasn’t a eunuch.

He followed her out of her apartment and down to the street where he’d parked the vehicle that Reese had organized for the mission. Stylish yet practical for the terrain they were visiting.

Vicky whistled as she ran a gloved finger along the hood of the M-class Mercedes. “Wow, she’s a beauty. Can I drive her?”

She placed both hands on the hood and leaned forward.

Ryan halted, eyes on the feminine hands almost stroking the car. Her knee bent, and one booted foot lifted off the ground in a wishful pose that made him think of hot kisses and sex on the hood. With the cold gray Chicago street behind her, she looked like a vibrant light in a sea of dismal gray. The pleasure and excitement on her face had his jaw dropping. Vic was a car buff.
Who knew?
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression mischievous. Her dark clothing outlined her body to perfection, all long lines and curvy butt. Her burnished copper hair gleamed in the weak afternoon sunlight. She looked like a demure-but-naughty snow bunny.

“Please?”

Yes
.
Please what?
Oh.
Drive.
The car
. He immediately shoved all suggestive images of her driving him out of his mind. He swallowed. “Not a chance.” He jerked the suitcase closer to him, wincing as the wheel rolled over his foot.

Pain
. Pain was good. It meant he still had circulation down there. That meant not all of his blood had rushed to his groin.

He ignored her sexy little pout as he wrestled her bag into the back of the car. Vicky opened the door and got in, and he quickly joined her.

She fumbled around in her tote bag, and Ryan kept his eyes steadfastly on the road, neckline be damned.
He
was driving.
He
was in control.

“I have tunes,” she muttered into the depths of her bag. “Hah!” she pulled out a stack of discs and waved them triumphantly.

Ryan shook his head. “Hell no. No ABBA.”

Vicky grinned as she slid the first compact disc into the car’s CD stacker. “Oh, come on, admit it. You love ’em.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, you will by the time we get there.”

Ryan sighed as the complicated chord sequence of “Dancing Queen” filled the car. It was going to be a long ride.

Chapter Five

Jade folded her arms as she gazed out across the expanse of glaring white. So cold, so white. So pure. Her lips curled. Not for long. She envisaged rivulets of red running across the flawless blanket.

Masculine arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her against a warm figure.

“You should come back from the window,” Simon whispered in her ear.

She turned in his arms, and gazed up at him. His features were so different, an alien face—but the eyes. Dark, cold. She smiled. Her Simon.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here.” Ultima Resort. And for some, it would be the last resort.

Simon’s lips quirked. “I told you we could do it.”

She laughed as she entwined her arms around his neck. “Yes, you did.”

Simon frowned. “Although we could have done without the chitchat with the nurse.”

Jade pouted. She hated it when he criticized her. “I felt like I had to explain why she had to die.” She stood up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “No witnesses, remember. Leave no one behind.”

“But you told her where we were going.” Simon tugged her hair, and Jade winced, her head tipping back as he glared at her.

“And then we took care of her, Simon,” she growled, trying to pull her hair out of his grasp.

“We don’t need to explain ourselves,” Simon said, and he pushed her away. She gasped as she fell back on to the bed. “You took a risk, telling her where we were going.”

“Well, she’s not going to tell anyone else,” she snapped, trying to roll off the bed. He grabbed her and dragged her back, his hands like vices on her ankles.

“Remember why we’re here, Jade,” he warned her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to remind me, Simon. She was just a damn nurse.” She lifted herself up on to her elbows. He liked it when she argued with him. She liked it, too.

He leaned over her. “I don’t want anyone ruining this for us. We’ve gone through too much. You, me. This is going to work. Together we’re invincible, Jade. We’re smarter, stronger. We are the special two.”

She tried to move her legs, but he held her tight. “I know. Now, let go.”

He smiled, and she could see the chill in his eyes melt into dark pools. “You make me hot, baby. Always.”

She lifted her chin, her lips parting in a smile. “Even after all these years?” Her voice was almost a whisper. Did he still find her attractive, with this new face, did he still love her?

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “Everything old is new again, baby.” His grip tightened on her face, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

“Stop it,” she said through clenched teeth.

He grinned as he forced her to lie back on the bed. “Nah. I know you like to fight.” She struggled against him as he lowered himself down on her. They grappled silently for a moment, then her palm cracked against his face. She grabbed his hair and yanked him over, and he gave a muffled laugh as she rolled with him until she straddled his hips.

“No, baby. I like to win,” she crooned at him, smiling before leaning down. “Now, give me some sugar,” she whispered against his lips. She clenched her fingers through the soft slide of hair, tugging tightly, and Simon groaned as he slapped her thigh. She sucked in a breath at the sharp sting of pain.

“God, I love you baby,” he said against her mouth.

Ah, that’s what she needed to hear.

* * *

“Spotto.” Vicky punched Ryan in the upper arm as they passed the yellow Camry going in the opposite direction on the I-90. They’d been on the road for about an hour, with two more hours to kill before they reached their destination, Hawk’s Ridge, a peak overlooking the town of Galena. The car was toasty warm, a nice contrast to the dirty snow edging the highway. She happily wriggled her toes in her boots.

“Hey, that’s the third time you’ve done that. What
are
you doing?”

Ryan’s tone was exasperated, and she didn’t bother to hide her surprise.

“You’ve never played Spotto?” Every road trip she’d taken with her parents and two brothers had always involved a rousing, painful game of Spotto, in between I Spy and Are We There, Yet?

Ryan’s eyebrow rose. “Spotto?”

“Yes, Spotto. First one to spot a yellow car calls ‘Spotto’, and gets to punch the person closest to them.”

Ryan shot her a look as though she’d suddenly started to speak Japanese. She held up a finger. “But if you call ‘Spotto’, and it turns out you’re wrong, like the car is orange instead of yellow, then the Spotto punch is a bounce back.”

“Bounce back?”

“Yeah. The punch comes back at you.”

“Where the hell did you come up with this game?”

“Didn’t you ever play it on a road trip with your family?”

Ryan’s lips lost their smile, and he kept his eyes glued to the blacktop. “No, my family never played any games on the road.”

Oh. That sounded...sad. “How did you pass the time then?” He hadn’t told her much about his family life, only that they’d moved around a lot.

He paused. “We were too busy getting from one place to another to even think about it,” he answered finally.

“Oh. Spotto!” She punched his arm as they came upon a yellow hatchback. Ryan growled, and she laughed. This was probably the first time since finding Orla in that bathtub that she felt semi-normal. She’d spent a few hours at the hospital the day before, gently holding Orla’s bandaged hand as she lay there, still unconscious in her narrow hospital bed, tubes hooked up to her frail body in an attempt to maintain life, her dark, stringy and matted hair framing a face that was as white as the pillow she lay upon. But Orla was alive, and she was fighting for her life. Each breath, each drop of fluid, brought her closer to consciousness, back to health. She had to remember that.

She glanced down at the file in her lap, and quickly dropped her smile. But this wasn’t a holiday with Ryan. This was her first undercover mission.
Find Orla’s attackers
,
and Karl Kruger’s killers.
She fingered the folder. Mal had supplied them with a background, which they’d gone over yesterday, but she still felt...unprepared. She flicked through a couple of pages. Sure, he hadn’t had very much time to set it up, but the material she was reading seemed a little sparse.

“So, we’ve been married for three years, huh? Why are we going to counseling?”

Ryan shot her an amused look, and she tried not to stare at him, or notice how just a glimmer of a smile lightened his whole face. “Because you need psychiatric help?”

Vicky made a face before rifling through the pages again. “No, seriously. Shouldn’t we get our stories straight, before we ‘go undercover’?” She might be new at this, but she wanted to do it right. She didn’t want to screw it up, didn’t want to let a killer escape justice—or worse, be responsible for more deaths, either hers or Ryan’s.

“You’re overthinking it, Vic. We’re going in there to find the Maxwells. We snoop. We listen. We search. We find out who isn’t what they seem, and bingo, we have the Maxwells. Hopefully we’ll be done and dusted in three days, max.”

She frowned. He made it sound so very simple. “But shouldn’t we, you know, get our history straight? Like, where did we meet? Couples always ask other couples those stories.”

“Do they? I’ve never asked a couple that. Spotto.” Ryan thumped her arm.

“Ow! Where?”

“Taking that off-ramp.” Ryan pointed out the offending vehicle as she rubbed her arm.

“Hmm. Okay. So, how did we meet?”

Ryan kept scanning the road ahead, and she realized he was trying to spot yellow cars. She should have known Mr. Competitive would take to Spotto like a fly to a cow paddy.

“Look, you’re an event coordinator—I thought Mal did good with that one,” he shot her a quick grin before turning back to the road. “And I’m a playboy heir dabbling in property development. Let’s say we met at one of your events.”

“Which one?” She wanted to know all the facts, to create a believable story around it.

He frowned. “Does it matter? Just any event will do.”

“Was it a corporate event? A wedding? A debutante ball?” These were important facts to know.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yes. Did you see me across a crowded ballroom, or in the bleachers at a company polo match?”

Ryan took a deep breath, as though she’d sucked all the oxygen out of the car.

“Let’s keep it as open and generalized as possible. Stick to the truth as much as you can. Once we start nailing down minute details, it’s easier to get caught in a lie. Broad, general terms.”

“You don’t think it’s important to know how we met?”

“I think it’s important to act like a married couple. If we get stuck, let me do the talking.”

She blinked. Wow. In other words, leave it to the expert. “You don’t think I can do this.”

Ryan kept his eyes forward for a moment, before quickly driving their vehicle onto the highway shoulder and pulling it to a stop, undoing his seat belt. He twisted around to face her, his hand moving to brace against her headrest.

“Can you?” he asked. He leaned closer, and she caught his scent...woodsy, with honey accents. Earthy but sweet. Sexy.

“Can you act like a successful event manager?” His hand touched her knee, his heat branding her through her thick legging material.

“Yes.” Her tone was purposely matter-of-fact. Operations Manager at...his finger traced the inside of her knee...uh, Ops Manager at, oh, gosh, at MSA wasn’t a far cry from being an event manager. She was more than confident of pulling, er—now two fingers—of pulling that off. What? What were they talking about?

“Can you act like a wealthy business woman, confident of moving in circles of the socially elite?” His voice was softer, deeper, and his hand slid up her thigh to her hip. He leaned closer, his gray eyes staring at her with an intensity that was...enthralling.

She swallowed. He was...close. What had he said? A wealthy woman? Well, Noah’s fiancée, Jessica, was disgustingly wealthy, über-connected, yet surprisingly down-to-earth. She’d use her as a rough guide in this situation.

“Yes,” she responded. This time her own voice lacked the confident volume of a moment ago. He was so...close. She eased back, trying to give them a little more space. There was that sexy-earthy scent again. She couldn’t think when he was this close, damn it. He should know by now that she did stupid things when he was this close. She shifted. He followed, until her back pressed against the cool glass of the passenger’s side window, and only a fraction of an inch separated their bodies.

Ryan ducked his head and inhaled. She tried not to shudder, not to give away how affected she was by his close proximity. She’d dreamed of a moment like this, of sharing space with him, sharing time. Ever since—well, ever since
that
Christmas party. Oh, jiminy, her knees were shaking.

“Can you act like a woman wanting to improve her marriage to the man she loves?”

This time his voice was a whisper in her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair. Her nipples peaked in her bra, and she tried to resist the urge of arching her back. Tried—and failed. Her breasts brushed his shirt, and she wasn’t sure if she shuddered, or if he did.

“Uh...”

He lifted his head, and his lips trailed across her cheek, until they rested against the corner of her mouth, like the softest touch of a kiss—enticing and frustrating at the same time.

Her breath was coming in pants, creating a delicious friction of breasts against chest. So warm, everything was so warm. Hot.

“Can you act like my wife?” Ryan whispered against her lips, then kissed her.