In the Enemy's Arms (11 page)

Whether it was her movement back toward the desk or some sixth sense that let him know when bare skin was covered—sort of—he turned, still grinning. “There’s time, doc. As long as we’re both breathing.”

Flirting came as naturally to him as breathing. It was a good thing she wasn’t susceptible to it. Or an incredibly handsome face. Or a grin that managed to be both wicked and innocent at the same time. Or a body that looked as if some sun god had come to life. Or…

Oh, hell.

He stripped off his shirt, then pulled out the two dive skins. “Time for the wet-suit wiggle.”

He stepped into first one leg, then the other, tugging the Lycra up over his calves, and sweat beaded on her forehead. It was the room—small, cramped, warm with the day’s humidity. After swiping her face, she picked up the second dive skin, balanced on the edge of the desk and did the same. The fabric did stretch miraculously, but she was damp, her skin sticky, and the suit didn’t want to go on smoothly. She wiggled, wriggled, stretched and pulled, finally getting the material to her hips.

“You’re not helping,” he muttered, and turned his back to her once more.

Recalling his tease—
Then you can help me into my skin
—she sniffed. With the time and money to devote to diving as he had for half his life, he’d probably done this a thousand times. It came as naturally to him as scrubbing and gloving up did to her. The difference was, she was used to gloving just her hands, not her entire body.

Then he turned, just enough to give her a side view, and she realized what he meant about not helping. He was aroused. Not full-blown, all-out, would-do-Viagra-proud aroused, but on the way.

Heat scorched her from inside out. She would like to think it was shock, maybe even horror at the very idea, but there was that damn self-honesty again. To say nothing of the swelling of her nipples and the tingling in places she didn’t want to think about, certainly not in conjunction with him.

Justin Seavers had gotten a hard-on watching her dress.

And she liked it.

* * *

Aw,
hell.

By the time they were half-dressed in their dive skins and ready to join the other waiting divers outside, Justin had gone through every curse word he knew a dozen times in his head. What was he, sixteen again? He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he’d watched women put on or take off their wet suits. Hell, even when he
was
sixteen, it hadn’t turned him on, not once.

But those women weren’t Cate, who was apparently some sort of witch who had discovered a great delight in not only irritating, annoying and patronizing him, but now also in giving him erections at the worst possible times.

Well, not exactly the worst. That would have been if they’d already hooked up with the Louisiana group that surrounded them. He’d dived with most of them before, and the guys never would have let him live it down.

They were gathered around the massage table underneath the straw-thatched
palapa,
waiting while Mario’s crew loaded tanks and readied the boat. Justin stood with one hip braced on the table, while Cate sat beside him, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. He didn’t even take it personally this time. He would feel just as out of place dressed in scrubs and stuck in her E.R. with a bunch of people whose language he didn’t speak.

Keeping half a mind on the conversation, he scanned the area every few moments. There was no one strange lurking around, no cars illegally parked on the street above, no one standing on the pedestrian bridge with binoculars for a better view. As Mario had said, the Wallaces’ punks couldn’t be watching
all
the dive boats. Still, that itch between his shoulder blades wasn’t going to go away until they were on the boat and well away from the pier.

The call to board the boat couldn’t have come soon enough. Cate trailed him to where they’d left their gear. Benita’s BC, a bulky vest that secured the tank and helped the diver achieve neutral buoyancy, looked as if it weighed more than she did. Mario helped her onto the boat, with one of the other divers steadying her, and she moved to a corner at the rear. Justin was glad
he
hadn’t had to help her.

And a little ticked that the others had beat him to it.

He nodded toward the opposite end of the bench. “Come forward, or the diesel fumes will get you. These guys prefer not to dive in water people have been puking into.”

She moved to sit beside him, tension radiating from her in waves. The seasick patch Mario had provided was stuck behind her ear, and she stroked it from time to time as if making sure it hadn’t come off. He had to give her credit. She was scared, but she still held herself together. A lot of women he knew would have had more than a few hysterics by now, but anyone looking at her would think she was nervous about her first ocean dive, nothing more.

Once the boat chugged away from the pier, Justin gave an inward sigh. Being out on the water always made everything better. He wished he had his own equipment, wished that instead of leaving the boat when they met Mario’s cousin, he could go into the water with the other divers. The Palancar Reef was a beautiful place. Finning around down there for a half hour and photographing whatever sea life he came across was his favorite way to pass time. Cate would enjoy it, too. It was a whole different world from the E.R. where she spent most of her time.

Abruptly catching the drift of his own thoughts, he stiffened. Wanting to take Cate diving? Was he insane? Hadn’t he figured out that she was a huge pain in the ass right after meeting her? Hadn’t Trent and every other time he’d seen her confirmed it? She was the last thing he needed in his ocean, unless he was contemplating drowning her.

But she did look sexy in that dive skin, the devil inside him pointed out. And in that bikini. And even in those silly pajamas. Truth was, she was damn sexy. Period.

Staring at the tanks the crew had secured in the boat, he considered hooking up to one. Obviously, his brain was oxygen deprived at the moment.

Proving it, instead of getting as far away from her—from temptation—as he possibly could, he leaned closer. “You okay?”

Brushing a strand of hair from her face, she nodded, then asked, “You wish you were diving with them?”

He grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

Another nod. “What makes it so special?”

“Geez, ask a hard question, why don’t you.” He gazed over the water, at the cruise ships heading into Cozumel, the fishing and dive boats heading out, the ferries jetting across to Playa del Carmen. Finally he met her gaze. “It’s…incredible. The fish, the water, the reefs, the freedom, the sense of discovery, the people. It’s just you and your dive buddy in a whole new world. It’s something everyone should try at least once. A lot of people aren’t cut out for it, but you never know until you give it a shot.”

Her nose wrinkled delicately. “It’s dangerous.”

“It can be, but, hell, doc, so is walking down the street. So is being in church if it’s the wrong place, wrong time.” He elbowed her lightly where the BC covered her ribs. “So is volunteering at a shelter for orphaned girls.”

“You’re such a cheerleader for it, maybe you should teach.”

“I do sometimes.” Seconds stretched out as he waited for her to ask for more. He wouldn’t tell her everything, of course—that he paid for dive classes and trips for kids at the community center where he’d met Susanna, that despite Mobile’s proximity to the coast, those trips were the first time most of the kids had ever seen the ocean, that it was one of the most fulfilling things in his life.

Her smile was touched with smugness. “Diving for Divas and Debs. Your students get to look good in their bikinis and dive skins, and you get…what? Your pick of the darlings?”

Part of every dive class was learning to deal with losing your mask. You went underwater and took it off, or your instructor took it off for you, and you had to put it back on and clear the water from it. After nearly twenty years, he still remembered that first time or two, the rush of water in his face, the fleeting but sinking sense of things gone wrong.

That was how the disappointment rushing over him now felt.

He didn’t bother responding to her comment, but instead said flatly, “I’ll be back.” Mario obviously knew their plan, and the crew would do what he told them to, but the other divers would be curious when he and Cate left the boat, and curious people tended to talk. He wanted to give them a heads-up and a reason to keep their mouths shut.

And while he was doing that, maybe he’d learn to keep his mouth shut, too.

* * *

Cate had never been so exhausted in her life. Even attending med school classes all day and studying into the early hours of the morning or pulling twenty-four-hour shifts in the E.R. hadn’t worn her down like this. Maybe it was because then, at least she was moving, talking to other people, keeping up a pace. Today she’d sat on Mario’s boat; she’d sat on his cousin’s boat; she’d sat at the Cancun airport waiting for their flight; she’d sat on the plane; she’d sat in the rental car, and Justin had said little to her. When he had bothered to speak, it had been the old Justin, the one who didn’t take anything seriously. Especially her.

He’d cancelled the direct flight from Cozumel to Atlanta, then bought seats on the next flight to the U.S., sending them to Houston. Thankfully, for him, booking two last-minute seats had been no financial problem, even if first class had been the only choice. Of course, that was probably the only way he flew other than private jet. Wealth did have its advantages.

Now they were somewhere east of the city. She was too tired to know if they were still in Texas or had crossed into Louisiana at some point. All she knew was they were going to Jackson, Mississippi, and he wasn’t wasting any time.

God, she was tired!

Justin glanced at her, his features shadowed by the dashboard lights. “You should have said something. We’ll stop at the next town.”

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” She managed a weak smile. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

The silence was so heavy that she thought he intended to go on not speaking to her, but then he sighed. “Two days.”

This time the silence was hers, dragging on until she forced out the question she’d been avoiding. “Do you think they’re all right?”

“Yeah.”

Relief didn’t even have time to bubble before he went on.

“For now.”

“Do you think they’ll survive this?”

His mouth tightened, and so did his fingers on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Not unless we find out what’s really going on with the adoptions.” As he exited the highway, he flashed her a sardonic smile. “Come on, doc. This isn’t the first time you’ve had someone’s life in your hands.”

“It’s the first time I’ve been responsible for someone I love.”

He bypassed the first motel they came to, its No Vacancy sign flashing in the night, and turned into the parking lot of the next one. Stopping under the portico that covered the main entrance, he shut off the engine, then looked at her. “You still love him?”

The question surprised half a laugh from her. “Not in a bad way. Not ‘ex-wife still in love with ex-husband.’ Just as someone important in my life. Susanna, too.”

He stared at her a moment, then got out and disappeared inside the motel. If she were a better student of human nature, she might think there had been a flash of something like relief in his eyes. But if she’d been a better student of human nature, she would have become a psychiatrist instead. Daytime hours, no blood, no guts.

Justin couldn’t care less whether she was still in love with Trent, beyond knowing that it was hopeless. And thinking it was pathetic. Of course, he’d always thought she was deluded for ever believing Trent could love her.

He returned with a card key to a room on the back side of the hotel and surprised her when they got out of the rental by lifting the duffel out before she could even reach for it. “Don’t expect me to always be chivalrous,” he warned. “Next time it’ll be your turn.”

“Next time I’ll be happy to.”

She could get used to being in motel rooms with him, she decided as they settled in. The place was clean, a faint lemony scent in the air, and the beds were inviting. He dug through his backpack while she did the same with her suitcase. It was as comfortable as anything had been in the last two days.

“I’m showering in the morning,” she said, clutching her pajamas and toiletries to her chest.

“Go ahead.”

After changing into the pajamas, she scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, then toddled back to the bed in her slippers. Justin was sprawled on the one closest to the door, fatigue etched on his face, eyes closed, so she pulled back the covers on the other. “I’m done.”

His only response came a moment later: a small snore.

She considered waking him so he could undress, but she didn’t. She considered wrapping the bedspread over him, but she didn’t do that, either. After moving his backpack off the foot of the bed, she didn’t do anything else besides shut off the lights and crawl into her own bed, drifting off almost immediately.

The insistent ring of a cell phone pulled her back to awareness. The room was dark, but the nightstand clock showed 7:06 and light seeped around the edges of the black-out curtains. She couldn’t figure out why the ring sounded wrong until she realized it wasn’t her phone. Who called anyone at 7:06 in the morning? she wondered grumpily, and Justin’s voice, slurred and barely intelligible, suggested he was wondering the same. About the time he came wide awake, the answer occurred to her: kidnappers.

Scrubbing his free hand over his face, he sat up. “No, we don’t have the files yet. I told you, I have some ideas. I need time to check them out.”

He listened a moment, and so did she, straining to hear even the murmur of the man’s voice. “If we wanted you to know where we were, we would have stayed at La Casa or my house. But geez, your men broke into both places and shot at us when they saw us. It doesn’t matter where we are at the moment. What matters is that we get the records back to you and you let our friends go.”