Читать книгу Risking It All - Cara Summers - Страница 33

HUNTER STOOD in the French doors that opened onto a patio and offered a view of rolling lawns and tennis courts. He spotted a pool beyond a low row of hedges. A woman sat in a lounge chair, sipping something from a tall glass. He assumed she was Lucas Wainwright’s wife since he recalled that his old friend had married a little over a year ago.

Looking at the scene, he couldn’t help but think that Lucas was a very lucky man—he had a home and someone to share it with. Long ago, he’d accepted that he would never have either of those. It was too much of a risk for someone who had to hide his true identity. Pushing the thought aside, he turned to face Lucas. “Nice spot.”

“Thanks.” Lucas removed three bottles of beer from a small refrigerator. “It’s private, and Tracker here can attest to the security.”

Hunter took the bottle when Lucas handed it to him. Though he hadn’t seen his old friend face-to-face since they’d been in college together, they’d kept in contact. When Lucas had taken his phone call today, he’d agreed to meet with Hunter immediately once he’d explained that a bomb had been delivered to his suite at Les Printemps.

A bomb.

Hunter had been trying to get his mind around that reality ever since Michael Banks had told him about it on the phone. Thank heavens Michael and Alex had been meeting with Irene Malinowitz in a different suite.

While he took a long swallow of his beer, Hunter studied the tall, quiet man Lucas had introduced as Tracker McBride. He felt perfectly comfortable with Lucas. He felt less comfortable with the man who handled Lucas’s security arrangements.

As if sensing his reservations, Lucas said, “Tracker and I served in a special-forces unit together seven years ago shortly after I left college. He handles all my security, and he’s the best. You can trust him.”

Hunter wasn’t so sure he could trust anyone anymore, but he was willing to take Lucas at his word. Moving to the desk, he extended his hand to Tracker. “Okay.”

“I thought it would save time if you explained to both of us what happened,” Lucas said.

“First, I need to know how confident you are that you weren’t followed,” Tracker said.

Hunter had to give the man points for asking. “I wasn’t followed.” He’d made damn sure of that once he’d had his meeting with Michael and Alex. The small bomb had been delivered to the suite assigned to Jared Slade, a suite he would have been working in if he hadn’t followed Rory Gibbs into Silken Fantasies. And then there was the note. He’d still been rattled about what had happened in that dressing room when Michael Banks had given it to him.

Hell, he was still rattled now. He’d taken a woman he didn’t know—a reporter—in the dressing room of a lingerie shop. Acting on impulse was a luxury he hadn’t allowed himself in years—not since he’d transformed himself into Jared Slade.

And then he’d just left her there. Not that he’d had a choice. Hell, someone had delivered a bomb to his suite. And she’d said that she was all right, though he knew he couldn’t be sure about that.

“Are you sure?” Tracker asked.

Hunter dragged his thoughts back to the question. McBride obviously wanted details. Lucas had picked a good man to head up his security. “Once I read the note, I decided to make myself scarce by escorting Irene Malinowitz back to her shop.” He’d insisted on escorting her back so that he could make sure that Rory really was okay. But she hadn’t been there.

“Then I went back to Les Printemps, left the lobby by the side door and hailed my own taxi. I had the driver drop me off at the Four Seasons where I called Lucas from a pay phone. Then I walked through the lobby, exited by another side door and hailed another cab. This time I went to the airport, rented a car, and followed your directions out here. Not even my two assistants know where I am.”

“Good.” Tracker gestured to one of the chairs in front of Lucas’s desk. “We can talk now.”

Almost amused, Hunter sat down in the chair. “Glad I passed the test. What would you have done if I’d been stupid enough to bring a tail with me?”

Tracker smiled. “We’d have gone somewhere else for our meeting. I don’t like to lose clients.”

“Fair enough,” Hunter said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. “My assistant Michael Banks found the package with the bomb and the note when he went to my suite to get some papers. It was on a table in the sitting room.”

“What do the police think?” Tracker asked.

Hunter’s brows shot up. “I didn’t ask them. And I didn’t show them the note. When I left, I heard that they had disassembled the bomb, and they were waiting to question Jared Slade.”

Tracker took the note from Hunter and read it out loud.

“Slade

Ticktock. Ticktock. The bomb is ticking. No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. Then you’ll die.”

Tracker met Hunter’s eyes. “Succinct. Lucas mentioned this wasn’t the first note.”

“There’ve been three in all. The other two said the same thing—No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. They’re in my safe in my office in Dallas. The first one came right after there was an incident of food poisoning at my hotel in Atlanta. I flew there personally, and even though I’m always careful to keep my whereabouts a secret, the note was delivered to my hotel room. The next note was delivered to my private plane after another incident—a fire in a factory I own in upstate New York. I’m very careful about protecting my privacy, my anonymity. Someone at the very top levels of my organization has to be either behind this or at the very least feeding information to the person or persons who are behind this.”

“Any ideas about who’s after you?” Tracker asked.

Hunter shook his head. “I’m traveling with my chief accountant and my executive assistant, Alex Santos and Michael Banks. I made the reservations at Les Printemps myself, but I informed them where we were staying yesterday. My chief administrative assistant in Dallas, Denise Martin, also knew. There was a woman in the lobby of Les Printemps when we arrived this morning—from Celebs magazine. She took some pictures, and I chased her from the lobby. She says that she got the information from an anonymous tip that was delivered by special messenger to her boss yesterday.”

“Her name?” Tracker asked.

“The name she gave the bellman was Rory Gibbs, and she told me she works for Celebs magazine.”

Tracker and Lucas exchanged glances.

“You know her?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Tracker said. “One of her sisters is a good friend of mine. She’s a detective in the D.C. Police Department. Her other sister works with Lucas’s wife at Georgetown. They’re triplets.”

Without warning, Hunter found his mind wandering back to those few moments when Rory’s legs had been wrapped around him and he’d been deep inside of her.

“Hunter?”

It was Lucas’s voice that drew him back. “Sorry.”

“I was just saying that I can talk to her and see if she’ll give me more information,” Tracker said. “I’ll also see what I can find out about the magazine. It’s interesting that the informant chose Celebs. Why not the Post or something?” Tracker wondered.

“Ms. Gibbs may have been in contact with my office. She’s done research on Jared Slade, and she’s very intent on getting an interview. Denise or Michael may have spoken with her.”

Tracker glanced at Lucas. “If she’s anything like her cop sister, odds are she’ll keep after you.” He looked back at Hunter. “Did she get your picture?”

Hunter shook his head. “No. The pictures she snapped were of Alex and Michael. I took them with me.”

Tracker grinned at him. “Good work. If you ever get tired of running Slade Enterprises, I can offer you a job working security for Wainwright Enterprises.”

Hunter’s answering smile was grim. “If we don’t get to the bottom of this, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

Tracker’s grin faded. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Lucas circled around his desk and sat on one of the corners. “You’ve already narrowed the suspects down to Denise Martin, Alex Santos or Michael Banks. That’s why you let only those three know where you were staying here in D.C. Have you picked a favorite?”

Hunter took a swallow of his beer. Lucas had always been smart. That was what had drawn them together in college. That and the fact that they had family problems in common. Before the notes had started coming, Hunter would have sworn that Lucas was the only person in the world who knew he’d changed himself into Jared Slade.

Now he was afraid that someone else knew, too. But who?

“Denise has worked with me from the beginning of Slade Enterprises. Over the years—six now—she’s become vital to me. I’d have to hire three or four people to replace her. Alex has been with me for four years and Michael for three. They each came to Slade Enterprises right out of business school. For the past year, I’ve worked closely with both of them. Alex is thorough, but not that great with people. But he’s the best number cruncher I’ve got in the company. Michael is a quick study and his instincts are excellent. And he’s good with people. Today, I felt perfectly comfortable letting them handle the final paperwork with Irene Malinowitz.”

Pausing, he sighed. “I don’t want to pick a favorite. “But if I had to narrow the list, I would lean toward Alex or Michael. Either of them would have had easy access to the suite where the bomb was left. However, I’m not sure I see any of them objectively. They’re like family.”

But he’d been betrayed by family before.

“Where were you when you learned about the bomb?” Tracker asked.

“I was in Silken Fantasies. I’d offered to stay there while Michael and Alex had Ms. Malinowitz sign the papers. They used Michael’s suite, thank heavens.”

“When you went back to the hotel, tell me exactly what happened,” Tracker said.

Hunter replayed the scene in his mind, trying to capture every detail. “Michael answered the door when I knocked. The police and hotel security were closeted in my suite. Michael’s hand shook when he handed me the note. I only caught a brief glimpse of Alex over Michael’s shoulder, but he seemed to be calmer. Irene was smiling at something he’d just said when I asked Michael to step into the hall so that he could report.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me that he’d had to go to my suite to get a copy of something that Irene had requested. When he saw the note and the package, he was immediately suspicious because of the other two incidents, so he read it. He left the suite immediately and called me. Then he called hotel security and the police. He kept the note out of sight until I got there.”

“So Michael had ample opportunity to plant the bomb,” Lucas said.

“Yes. But he and Alex hadn’t been together the whole time. So Alex also could have left it there. Denise could have hired someone to plant it. All of which leaves me with no clear suspect. That’s why I need your help.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Lucas said with a smile. “Tracker’s the best. He’s managed to save my sister’s life twice, so you’re in good hands.” He turned to Tracker then. “Any preliminary thoughts?”

Tracker looked at Hunter. “I’d say someone knows your past—who you really are—and they have an old score to settle. Any idea who that might be?”

Hunter shook his head. “I’ve been racking my brain since I received the first note.”

“Could it be someone in your family?” When Hunter said nothing, Tracker continued, “You know, in a homicide, the prime suspects are either lovers or close relatives.”

“No one in my family cares whether I’m dead or alive.”

“Any other enemies from that time?” Tracker pressed.

Hunter thought briefly about the woman who’d been his lover and who’d betrayed him. He doubted that she ever gave him a thought. “No. I’ve been through it over and over.”

Tracker glanced at Lucas. “I’m going to have to pay a visit to your hometown and dig around a little bit there.”

Hunter opened his mouth, but Lucas spoke first. “Tracker can be very discreet. He’s also good. No one will know that he’s even interested in you.”

Hunter didn’t like it, but he couldn’t see any way around it. “Okay. But I don’t think the death threat is imminent. I think whoever this is—he or she—wants to expose me first, perhaps do more damage to Slade Enterprises. The important thing is to prevent my past from coming out. It’s very important that Slade Enterprises never be connected to my family.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” Tracker said. “That’s why I’m recommending that we try to flush this person out before he or she is ready. Is that okay with you?”

Hunter nodded. “The sooner the better.”

Tracker paused to grin at Lucas. “He’s a lot like you.” Then he turned back to Hunter. “Here’s the plan. Lucas has a place down in the Keys, an island where his grandfather built a fishing shack. You’re going to let Denise, Alex and Michael know that you’re going down there for a few days for a little R & R. I’ll put tails on them, taps on their phones, the whole deal.”

“And I’ll wait for them down in the Keys,” Hunter said.

“Oh, no. One of my men will wait down in the Keys. You’ll be right here where I know I can keep you safe.”

Hunter frowned, but it didn’t keep Tracker from continuing.

“I told you before. I don’t like to lose clients. Maybe this person wants to make you suffer by exposing you first. But maybe not. There was a bomb delivered to your suite. And it was discovered and disassembled. But who’s to say it wouldn’t have killed you if you’d been close enough to it when it went off? I’d rather err on the side of caution. Plus, we’ll be working at the problem from both ends. I’ll be trying to find out who from your past has a connection with one of the three top people in your organization, and we’ll see if the trap set down in the Keys nails our suspect down. That should mean faster results.”

Hunter turned the plan over in his mind. It made sense. “The only thing I don’t like is not being personally involved.”

“The farther away I keep you, the less chance there is of any of this leaking to the press,” Tracker pointed out. “And Lucas’s estate has a lot to keep you occupied. Tennis courts, horses, sauna, pool. To my way of thinking it beats the hell out of that old fishing cabin in the Keys for a little R & R.”

Hunter turned to face his friend. “I don’t want to intrude on you and your wife.”

“Not at all,” Lucas assured him. “Mac has an apartment in Georgetown and we’ll be driving back there tonight because she starts the second summer session at the college tomorrow.”

“There’s just one thing I ought to mention,” Hunter said, glancing from one man to the other. “I promised the Gibbs woman I would get back to her about the interview.”

“Why don’t I take care of that?” Tracker said. “When I talk to her, I’ll tell her that Jared Slade was called out of town suddenly and you’ll be in touch about the interview as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Hunter said. That was the best plan. Hadn’t he already decided that it wouldn’t be wise to see Rory Gibbs again?

“If we’re done with business, I think we ought to go out to the pool so that Hunter can meet Mac,” Lucas said.

“It’s not necessary,” Hunter said. “It’s probably better that I keep a low profile until you leave.”

“I insist,” Lucas said, exchanging a look with Tracker. “See, my wife has just published a book on male sexual fantasies—part of a research project she did.” He cleared his throat. “She’s presently on her cell phone sharing the best parts with my sister, Sophie—Tracker’s significant other. If we don’t interrupt them soon, Tracker and I are going to have a very strenuous night ahead of us.”

Tracker laughed then. “I’m not complaining.”

As he followed the two men out to the pool, Hunter found himself envying them. His mind once more slipped back to those few moments that he’d shared in the dressing room with Rory Gibbs.

It was on impulse that he’d escorted Irene Malinowitz back to the shop, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from going into the dressing room again. He could still smell Rory. And she’d left the red bra and thong. He’d acted on impulse again when he’d bought them and had Irene send them to her at the magazine.

He wouldn’t see Rory Gibbs again, and there was no way he could give her that interview. It was too risky. Acting on impulse wasn’t something that he could afford to do again.

RORY SPOTTED NATALIE at the bar the moment she walked into the Blue Pepper. At five-thirty, the dinner crush hadn’t started yet, but there was a good crowd enjoying the cocktail hour. Tightening her grip on the bag she was carrying, Rory pushed and nudged her way to the upper level to join her sister. Natalie’s message on her voice mail had been cryptic. “Meet me at the Blue Pepper at five-thirty. I have some info on your mystery man.”

She was sure that Natalie was referring to Jared Slade, but Rory had begun to think of Slade’s bodyguard as her current mystery man. Even now when she thought about what had happened in that dressing room, she had to pinch herself to make sure the whole thing hadn’t been a dream. Of course, the red thong she was carrying in the pink Silken Fantasies bag was proof positive of that.

No man had ever made her feel so wanted, so needy, so sexy, so…everything. The Terminator, as she called him, was her fantasy man made flesh, right down to the dimple. But even in her fantasies, she hadn’t imagined that clever mouth and those incredible hands. And she didn’t even know his name. He hadn’t signed it to the message he’d sent with the red thong and bra.

I’ve never enjoyed a kiss so much. That’s what the message had said. The one sentence had been playing itself over and over in her mind since the pink bag bearing the logo of Silken Fantasies had been delivered an hour ago to her temporary desk at Celebs.

The message had set off a string of questions. Did it mean he wanted to see her again? Did it mean he was going to get the interview for her? When she’d stopped by Les Printemps, all she’d been able to discover was that Jared Slade had checked out.

But the question foremost in her mind was would she feel the same way if he kissed her again? In her fantasies, Rory had explored that particular scenario several times. But the more logical side of her mind understood that fantasies and reality were worlds apart. And the logical side of her mind suspected the lingerie was a “dumping gift.” Paul had bequeathed her his toaster when he’d moved out of her apartment. His note had said, No hard feelings.

How many such gifts could she accumulate over a lifetime?

As Rory crossed the floor to the bar, she rubbed her left temple where a little headache was beginning to throb. Well, a red thong was a much classier “dumping gift” than a used toaster. And she hadn’t given up yet on tracking down the Terminator.

It was only when she reached Natalie that she recognized the man on the stool next to her sister.

“Hi, Chance,” she said and tried not to giggle when he took her free hand and kissed it. “I didn’t know you were back from London.”

“Always a pleasure, Rory,” Chance said. “I can’t stay away from your sister for very long.”

Rory wrinkled her nose. “You make it tough on a plain Jane like me. She’s even prettier when you’re around.”

Surprise flashed into Chance’s eyes. “Where’d you get the idea that you were a plain Jane?”

“Her ex planted that in her mind,” Natalie said. “He was a class-A jerk.”

“Want me to beat him up for you?” Chance offered.

“He’s history,” Rory assured him.

“Sierra and I have it covered,” Natalie said. “We have a voodoo doll in his image, and we take turns sticking pins into it.”

He pretended to look alarmed. “Remind me not to cross you.” As Chance slipped off the stool, he turned to Rory and winked. “Let me know if you change your mind. Right now, I have orders to disappear for a few minutes so that I won’t intrude on the girl talk.”

Rory climbed onto the stool and set her bag on the bar. “You know, I like him more each time I see him. You really hit the jackpot, Nat.”

Nat’s eyes were glowing as she watched Chance walk away. “Yeah, I did.”

“What’ll it be, Rory?”

“Hi, George.” Rory shot the tall, bronze-skinned man a smile. “A glass of white wine would be nice.”

“You got it,” he said as he pulled a glass from an overhead rack. When he set it down in front of her, his gaze fell on the pink bag, and his brows lifted. “What’s in the Silken Fantasies bag? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Natalie stared at the bag. “I thought only the rich and the famous could afford to shop there.”

Rory could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t shop there. Not exactly. I just ran in to try some things on, and—it’s a gift. Not for someone else. For me.” She was stuttering. “Someone gave it to me. I’m deciding if I should give it back.”

George winked at her. “Never give back expensive lingerie. But you’ll have to model it before I can give you an informed opinion.”

“Not a chance,” Rory said.

“Who gave you something from Silken Fantasies?” Natalie asked when George had moved down to the far end of the bar. “Did you get that from Jared Slade?”

“No.” Then she sighed. “It’s a long story.”

Natalie’s brows shot up. “Can I at least have the Reader’s Digest version?”

Rory took a sip of her wine and then gave her sister a modified version of her morning’s adventure. Since Natalie was a natural-born worrier, she left out the part about actually making love to a complete stranger and played up the kiss part.

“You didn’t get your interview, but you kissed Jared Slade’s bodyguard. And now you have a five-hundred-dollar red thong and matching bra and a note that says I never enjoyed a kiss so much,” Natalie summarized.

“In a nutshell.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “And I thought Harry’s letter had changed me. How was the kiss?”

Rory ran her finger down the condensation on her wineglass. “On a scale of one to ten, it was about a thirty.”

Natalie grinned at her. “Good.”

Rory shook her head. “It was the kind of kiss that makes you want it to happen again. And that’s not good. I’ll probably never see him again. I probably won’t get that interview, either. I gave up any leverage I had when I gave him the pictures. Not that I could tell which one of the two men was the real Jared Slade anyway.”

“Hey, where’s that devil-may-care attitude? You’re sounding far too negative.”

Rory stared at her sister. She was right. “Negative’s the old Rory. The new Rory doesn’t want to be like that.”

Natalie smiled. “Sierra and I liked you just fine. But I think that you’re having more fun as the new Rory. And I have some news that may help you to nurture your inner daredevil.”

“What?”

Natalie leaned closer. “This is all off the record.”

“Of course.”

“I told you my partner and I were trying to keep tabs on Jared Slade. Right around noon, there was a call put in to the police. Someone delivered a bomb to his suite at Les Printemps. No one was hurt, but Matt and I were called to the scene.”

“Did you see Jared Slade?”

Natalie shook her head. “He wasn’t in the suite when it happened, and he took off before the uniforms arrived. But I do have a lead for you. Chance and I stopped by Sophie Wainwright’s shop this afternoon, and from something she said, I think this Jared Slade might be staying out at the Wainwright estate in Virginia.”

“What did she say?”

“Rory. Rory Gibbs, is that you?”

Recognizing the voice of her boss at Celebs, Rory placed a hand on Natalie’s arm and turned to smile at Lea Roberts who was striding toward them. Lea was looking very put together in a beige linen suit, and wore her dark hair long and straight in an attempt to carry off a maturing Demi Moore look.

“Lea,” Rory said, “this is my sister, Detective Natalie Gibbs.”

As the two women nodded at each other, Rory continued, “Lea has been my boss and mentor at Celebs. She’s done a lot to help me there.”

“I pick my protégées very carefully,” Lea said to Natalie. Then she turned to Rory. The smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. When I missed you at the office, I went over to the hotel, but I was told that Jared Slade had already checked out. Tell me you got the picture.”

“Yes, but—” Rory began.

“Wonderful. Let me see.” Lea held out her hand, her fingers wiggling.

Rory felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I don’t have them with me. I—”

“You left them on my desk then.” Lea glanced at her watch. “I have time to—”

“No.” Rory swallowed. “By the time I got them developed, I knew it would be too late to give them to you at the office, so I left them at home. I’m sorry. I had no idea I would be running into you.”

Lea’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes heated several degrees and her foot started to tap. “You’re sure you got a picture of Slade?”

“Absolutely.”

Lea hesitated, and Rory was sure she would have said more if Natalie hadn’t been present.

“I was counting on having them today. Please have them on my desk at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Sure.”

Lea gave a brief nod to Natalie. “Detective.” Then she whirled and strode away.

“She’s not a happy camper,” Natalie said.

“She’s been very good to me.”

“She reminds me of the villain in those 101 Dalmatians movies. All she’d need is a white streak in her hair.”

Rory grinned. “Cruella DeVil. They are a bit alike, I guess. Lea’s always on goal. She doesn’t let much stand in her way. I’ve learned a lot from her.”

Natalie studied her sister. “And you just lied through your teeth to her.”

Rory shrugged. “I couldn’t very well tell her that I’d given the pictures back. If I can still get that interview, she’ll be happy.”

“And if you don’t?”

Rory beamed a smile at her. “I have a sister with connections who’s about to tell me where I can find Jared Slade. How can I fail?”

Natalie was still studying her. “This is really important to you.”

“Yes,” Rory said. But even as she said it, she realized that her quest to interview Jared Slade wasn’t the only reason she wanted to track him down. Jared Slade was her ticket to seeing the Terminator again.

“Tracker McBride—that’s Sophie’s significant other—is spending the entire day on the Wainwright estate because some rich businessman who keeps a low profile with the press had an attempt made on his life today.”

“Interesting coincidence,” Rory commented.

“Tracker heads up security for Wainwright Enterprises. Chance and he go back to the days when they worked in a special-forces unit. I asked Sophie if she was talking about Jared Slade, the rich mystery tycoon, and she couldn’t confirm that because Tracker didn’t mention a name. He just said that this mystery man and Lucas had gone to college together. But how many rich, media-shy businessmen could there be visiting D.C. this week? I figured you might want to check it out.”

Rory’s mind was racing. A bomb had been delivered to Jared Slade’s suite. Why? By whom?

“I have to admit that I feel a lot better about you going after this interview now that I know Slade’s connection to the Wainwrights. They’re solid people.”

“If this person is Jared Slade. Did Sophie say how long this mystery man would be staying at the Wainwright estate?”

Natalie nodded. “At least until tomorrow. She doesn’t expect Tracker back until late tonight.”

“You don’t by any chance have directions to the estate?”

Nat grinned at her as she took a folded paper out of her purse. “Yeah. I figured you might want them. I went to a party there last winter. Good luck.”

Rory pressed a hand against the nerves jumping in her stomach. “Thanks.”

She had a hunch that she was really going to need her inner daredevil to come out now.

IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Lea’s cell phone woke her out of a half sleep.

“Well, is Jared Slade the man you knew as Hunter Marks?”

Lea resented the way the voice on the other end of the line could chill her. “I haven’t seen the photo yet. But I’ll have the pictures first thing in the morning. She definitely got one of Slade, but we kept missing each other all day long.”

“This is not going well.”

Tell me about it, Lea said to herself. She’d come within an inch of firing Rory in that bar. But that wouldn’t have gotten her what she wanted. She needed those photos first. What she said out loud was, “I talked to her and she definitely got the picture. We’ll both have what we want in the morning.”

“Where are the pictures right now?”

“She said she left them in her apartment. I’ll have them at eight-thirty.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

I sincerely hope not, Lea thought as she ended the call. Once she had the pictures, she wouldn’t have to have anything more to do with her anonymous informant.

RORY STIRRED, WHACKED HER ELBOW hard against something, and came abruptly awake. Before the bubble of panic could even fully form in her stomach at the bewildering surroundings, she remembered where she was—in her car a short distance from the Wainwright estate.

The streaks of pink in the east told her that it was close to sunrise. The moon had shone full and bright in the pitch-black sky when she’d parked her car at the side of the road shortly after one o’clock, and now, finally, she was going to make her move.

Leaning back in the seat, she crossed her fingers and prayed for all of her luck to be up and running. No more backsliding. She was not going to slip into the pattern of self-doubt the way she had when she’d been talking to Natalie in the Blue Pepper. Just as a little extra precaution, she’d put on the red bra and thong. Irene had told her that it would make her feel more confident about herself—and she was going to need every shred of confidence she had—or could borrow—to get the interview with Jared Slade.

She wasn’t even going to think about what she would do if she met the Terminator again, let alone what would happen if he kissed her again.

After stepping out of the car, she hurried across the road and used the grasses growing in the ditch for cover as she approached the drive that led to the Wainwright mansion.

As far as she could see there wasn’t a guard. Just a wide wrought-iron gate between two twelve-foot brick walls. Thanks to a full moon, she’d gotten a good view of the main house and grounds when she’d crested the last hill, and she’d noted that a brick wall bordered the rambling estate on all four sides. She’d counted two other buildings besides the house—a pool house and what she guessed to be a stable. Lucas Wainwright had some pretty nice digs.

Pushing her way through the grass, she climbed out of the ditch and crossed the road. The gate held when she pushed against it. Moving to the right, the direction she’d come from, she studied the wall. The bricks looked fairly new—the mortar that held them was smooth. Not a chink in sight. But she’d passed a tree. Breaking into a jog, she headed toward it.

The limb was just out of her reach, so she jumped for it. When her hands slipped the first time, she landed on her butt. Making a mental note that she had to start going to her gym on a more regular basis, she scrambled to her feet and leapt for the lowest branch.

This time her grip held, but it took her three tries before she managed to swing her legs up and hook them around the branch. For a moment, she hung there and just concentrated on breathing. Upper-body strength was what she needed. Along with that fanny lift. She’d start first thing tomorrow.

For now, she wiggled, swore, wiggled and swore again until she sat upright on the branch. The ground looked far away and, up close and personal, the branch looked a lot less sturdy. It bobbed and swayed in perfect rhythm with the way her stomach was pitching around as she inched her way along its length. Once she reached the wall, she crawled carefully onto it, then made herself take slow, calming breaths.

A quick assessing look around didn’t make her stomach feel any better. There was no tree in sight on this side, and the ground still looked far away. All she had to do was dare herself, then wiggle to the edge and drop. Twelve feet wasn’t that far. She’d just count to three and take the plunge. Eyes closed, she’d counted to two when she heard the dogs barking. She opened her eyes and spotted two large black Labs barreling toward her. Any thought of sweet-talking them evaporated when she saw the man following them. Her Terminator.

She felt that same punch to her system she’d felt the first time she’d spotted him in the lobby. He was walking toward her with that same ground-eating stride, that same focused purpose. Each step he took increased the sensations racing through her—the tingling in her palms, the race of her heart. And she was suddenly very aware of the way her nipples had hardened against the sheer fabric of her bra.

This time, he was wearing gray sweats and a sleeveless gray tank top. As he drew closer, Rory could see the muscles that she’d only felt in the dressing room. She’d also become very aware of the way the red thong circled her hips and dipped low at the small of her back and she could feel the thin piece of lace that lay dampening at the center of her heat.

Questions tumbled through her mind. Why was she reacting this way to this man? And why couldn’t she seem to control it?

She still had time to climb back down the tree and run. The moment the idea slipped into her mind, she shoved it out. This man was her best chance of getting an interview with Jared Slade.

The dogs reached the wall and were barking and leaping as high as they could. But Rory couldn’t take her eyes off the Terminator. Fear, anticipation and excitement tumbled through her, nearly making her dizzy. She pressed her hands hard into the top of the brick wall to steady herself.

When he reached her, he settled the dogs with one quick gesture. Then he met her eyes and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”