“All right, your father was working on a formula, but he’s been dead for more than a year. There are all kinds of establishments working with alligators, all through Florida, Georgia, Texas and more. What brought you here?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I finally cleaned out all my dad’s business communications. An old e-mail I found from Harry’s Alligator Farm and Museum seemed to point in this direction.”
“Was Harry Rogers ever in Jacksonville? Did he know your father?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“I assume your father communicated with a lot of other institutions.”
“Yes, but…none of the others were…well, located in such a wilderness. A place where it’s possible to hide so much.”
“Exactly what did the e-mail say, and who was it from?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t signed. It was just a query, but there was something off about it. Something greedy. My father wrote back that he couldn’t help.”
“Then…?”
“It came right after there had been an article about my dad that mentioned the kind of research he was doing. So I came here, and…that couple got killed, and you found a piece of an alligator there, and then that poor man was…eaten.”
“Still…”
“Jesse, I’m telling you, there was nothing else to go on, nothing.”
“What about the other employees where your dad worked? What did they say?”
She shook her head in disgust. “According to everyone, my father had destroyed his research, the formula and his specimens. He worked for a very aboveboard corporation. When he said his research had taken a dangerous turn, they gave him the freedom to start over. So now they’re all sorry, and they all understand that I’m upset. But as far as they’re concerned, it was an accident.”
She stared at him, then grasped his hands. “But it wasn’t an accident. I know it. Harry—or someone here—got my father’s formula, and they killed him to do it. You have to believe me! And now they’ve lost a few of their specimens, and those gators are running around the Glades killing people. They’re trying to track them down, but they don’t want to get caught, and I think that’s why your friends were killed. Whoever was out there picking up the specimen decided that Hector and Maria had seen too much. But what really scares me is that I think they’re still trying to use the formula. Jesse, please, think about it. You said that Hector and Maria were wonderful people, that they couldn’t have been drug-running. So you have to go to the next conclusion—that they were killed for something they saw, for what they might know. Come on! Why else would anyone kill your friends? They were shot because they saw the alligator. And the killers dared to murder them because they knew everyone would just assume it had something to do with drugs. Jesse, I’m right, and you know it.”
He drew away from her at last, then stood and walked to the glass doors, looking out at the pool and the deep, rich green of the hummock beyond, not seeing. “Lorena, your dad has been dead more than a year, right?” he said softly.
“Right.”
“And his research went back several years. But alligators, even pampered hatchlings, only grow about a foot a year. To get a creature big enough to kill a man would take well over a decade.”
“Jesse, you don’t understand just what can be done once man starts messing with nature. My father began his studies about five years ago, and with the alterations he could create, a gator could grow as much as four feet in a year. You figure it out. Do the math. See where we’d be right now,” she said softly.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, but he wondered, Was it possible?
“You’ve got to get out of here,” he said flatly. “This is about the wildest theory I’ve heard in my entire life, but if there’s any truth in it whatsoever, someone is going to find out who you are. You’ve got to get away.” He spun on her. “And another thing. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this when you arrived down here?”
“Hey! The second time I ever saw you, you were at Harry’s. Sally told me you come there all the time. How could I know for certain that you weren’t involved somehow?”
He sighed, looking down. “I’m a cop, Lorena. And just like I said at the beginning—a real one.”
She rose, staring back at him. “And you’re going to tell me that there haven’t been dirty cops?”
He lifted his hands; then his eyes narrowed, and he strode over to her, taking her by the shoulders, ready to shake her for real. His fingers tensed where he held her, his teeth locked. He fought both his temper and his fears for her. At last he said, “You couldn’t tell? You couldn’t tell by getting to know me that I wasn’t crooked?”
She inhaled, staring at him, eyes wide. She parted her lips, ready to speak, but words didn’t come. She moistened her lips, ready to speak again, then just shook her head and, to his surprise, leaned it against him.
He wrapped his arms around her. Time ticked away as they stood there and he felt the soft force of her body against his, his own emotions washing through him with the force of a tidal wave. Heat began to fill him. He was torn, ready to rush out and pound his fist into anyone who would so coldly kill and let loose such a danger. But he was a police officer, sworn to uphold the law. He’d been a detective, trained to find out the truth before ripping into something like a maniac.
But he was also simply a man.
And here she was, in his arms. She had elicited emotion and longing in him from the first time he had seen the green-and-gold magic in her eyes, heard the tone of her voice. He’d been irritated, angered, enchanted. He’d seen the empathy in her eyes for others, the spark of fire when she was angry.
This wasn’t the time.
He had taken her away from Hugh, and Hugh would be angry now, telling the tale to everyone.
And at Harry’s, they might be suspicious….
“You can’t go back there,” he said, and he lifted her chin, his thumb playing over the flesh of her cheek.
Her eyes met his. Her fingers moved down his back, dancing lightly along the length of his spine. “I have to go back,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. And he brought his lips to hers. She didn’t protest or hesitate for a second. It was as if they had both been simmering, awaiting the boiling point, and when they touched at last…
She melted into his arms, breasts and hips fitting neatly into his form. Her fingers threaded into his hair; her mouth tasted of mint and fire.
They broke apart. “I have to…” she said, and her meaning was unclear, because they fused together again, and her hands worked down to his hips, then below, cupping his buttocks, drawing him closer.
At last he caressed her face as he had longed to, exploring texture and shape. Then his fingers fell to the buttons of her shirt, and the fabric obediently parted. His fingers slid along the flesh of her throat, stroked, then careered down the length of her neck. Beneath the cotton of her shirt, he found her bra strap, slipped it away, and his lips dropped to her shoulder, while his fingers continued to disrobe her, baring more flesh for the eager whisper of his tongue. He felt her hands at his belt, then realized his gun was there. He released her long enough to discard his gun belt, then drew her back quickly, fevered, heedless of anything then but the wanting and the heady knowledge that she was just as hungry as he was.
Her skirt and delicate lace bra fell to the floor, and the sleek length of her back was available to be savored by the touch of his fingers, while his lips found the hollows at her collarbone, then moved steadily down, finding her breasts. He felt the quickening of her breath, and that, too, was an aphrodisiac. She was smooth and soft, erotic, hot, vibrant. Her lips and teeth on his shoulders, bathing, biting, aroused him. Her hands, deft and seductive, were at the waistband of his trousers. It was then he realized that, remote as his house might be, the glass panes opened to the glory of the Everglades—and the eyes of anyone who might wander by. He caught her up into his arms, heedless of the clothing they
left scattered behind, and strode down the hallway to his bedroom. As he did so, her eyes met his, dazed and mercurial, fascinating, poignant pools. And then her fingers swept back a dark lock of his hair, touching his face as he had so tenderly touched hers.
Night was coming to the Everglades. Coming in hues of crimson and purple, red and gold. The light shone dimly into the room, illuminating them as they fell onto the bed and came together again in a fury of naked flesh. Every little nuance of her seemed to touch and awaken and arouse him. Whispers and soft moans escaped her lips, a siren’s song, as he reveled in the discovery of her, the tautness of her abdomen, the length of her legs, the firm fullness of her breasts. And in return…her hands were on him, touching without restraint, fingers no more than a whisper, and then a tease that brought the blood thundering through his veins again, his own breath a drumbeat, the tension in him unbearable.
And yet the anguish was sweet. As if the moment would not come again and had to be cherished, savored. He felt he died a thousand little deaths, not willing to allow it to end, hands upon her everywhere, lips tasting, teasing, giving homage, demanding response. He held himself above her, found her mouth, his tongue thrusting within, gentle at first, then almost angry. Finally he allowed his body to slide slowly against hers as he eased himself lower, again finding the fullness of her breasts, the rose-tipped peaks of her nipples, and below, his tongue stroking a rib, delving into her naval, the lean, low skin of her midriff, then…a kneecap, outer thigh, inner thigh, and the crux of her sex.
He heard the anxious, heady sound of her whispers and moans, protest, encouragement. She writhed against him and into him, and he felt the pulse of her body, until at last he rose above her again and thrust into her, his eyes locked with hers, his soul needing to encompass the length and breadth and being of her with the same searing need that ruled his body. The world rocked in the colors of the sunset, soaring, shooting reds, golds that burned into heart and mind. He moved, and she moved with him, a fit as sweet as it was erotic. Fever seized him, and the rhythm of their union became staccato and desperate. The sounds of their breathing rose to storm pitch, hearts attuned in physical cacophony. Searing lava seemed to rip through his veins, and he fought it, until he felt her surge against him, and then his own climax seized him with violence and majesty.
He moved to her side, and felt the thundering in his chest decrease to a steady beat, the pulse slow, the air move. The colors of sunset faded. Mauve darkness settled over them as she curled against him. He touched her hair in wonder, but his voice rang harsh again when he spoke. “You can’t go back there.”
The wrong words. She pushed away from him.
“I have to.”
“No.”
“Jesse…”
“Shh.”
“I have to go back. And I have to go back soon.”
“Not now.”
“They’ll know I’m with you.”
“It’s early.”
“But…”
“Shh.”
“Jesse, you can work with me or against me,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply. He was fascinated by the color of her hair against his sheets in the dying light. She went rigid beside him, so he smoothed her hair, then her brow. Then he kissed her forehead, her lips.
And then it began all over again, and this time, when the final thunder came, the black of night had descended fully.
They didn’t speak, just held each other for the longest time, her head on his chest, their legs entwined. At last she pushed away from him, rose and found the shower.
He found her there. And in the spray of heat and steam, he found himself exploring anew, touching, tasting, licking tiny water drops from her flesh….
Feeling them licked from his own skin, feeling himself touched, taken, stroked.
Soap upon flesh, flesh upon flesh, a night in which he found he could not be sated, in which he soared, in which he was afraid. And he didn’t want it to end, because, when it did…
Eventually they managed an actual shower. The lights on, they moved in silence, finding all the scattered pieces of their clothing. And then, a new cup of coffee in his hand, Jesse told her firmly, “You can’t go back.”
She was rigid and determined; he could see that immediately. She regally smoothed back a piece of wet hair and said, “I told you, you can work with me and keep me safe, if that’s what you feel you have to do. But I am going back.”
“I can stop you,” he told her.
She lifted her chin. “You’d really arrest me?” she demanded. “For what?”
His teeth grated.
“I can tell Harry that you’re acting suspiciously. That I think you’re dangerous.” He lifted his hands in frustration. “Lorena, your being there is pure insanity. You’ve told me that someone killed your father. An innocent couple was shot down in cold blood. A man was eaten by a gator. If someone at Harry’s is involved, that someone is ruthless.”
She set her hands on her hips, indignant, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What? I’m a woman, and that means I have to be incompetent?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’m not letting you go back there.”
“Then you’ll never find the killers you’re after!” she told him.
He stared back at her, feeling anger rise in him again.
“I need to go back. And I need to go back now. I’m already going to have to think of something to say when everyone wants to know why you detained me.”
“I told both you and Hugh that I was going to talk to you about the incident at the farm,” he said flatly. He shook his head in disgust. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You haven’t just entered a pit of vipers, you’re asking them to bite.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on. You’re flirting with the pack of them.”
“I went for a ride in an airboat,” she said. “So what?” But there was no conviction in her tone.
He stared at her, torn, impotent, and furious because he knew that, on the one hand, she was right.
He had no proof of anything. So…what? Wait until something else terrible happened and hope he was there to save her? Find some reason for a search warrant, a legal way to get into Harry’s, and rip the place apart?
“No one was suspicious of me except you,” she reminded him. “Honestly, Jesse, I told you I’m a crack shot. I carry a gun, and I’m licensed.”
“Great. And do you walk around armed all day?”
She let out a sigh. “Do you really think anyone is going to hurt me in front of dozens of witnesses?”
“Two days,” he said.
“What?” she asked him, frowning.
“Two more days. That’s what I’ll give you. And you have to swear to me that you’ll go nowhere alone with any of those men. When it’s night, you lock yourself in. When it’s morning, you get where you need to be—fast.”
“I need to get back into the lab,” she said.
“You can do that when I’m there.”
She cocked her head to the side, wary. “And we’ll manage that how?”
“Easy. I’m around enough.”
She hesitated. “Jesse—”
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” He shook his head angrily. “You toe the line, and I mean it. It’s going to be busy as hell right now, too, because I have to arrange hunting parties to find your scientifically mutated alligators—assuming they even exist. Every one of them has to be caught and killed. God knows how many people could die if some super race of huge, aggressive gators starts breeding out there.”
“Two days, then,” she said softly. “But, Jesse…that’s my point, don’t you see? I have to find the truth. I have to find out what they know and just how they’ve altered the alligators, not to mention just how many of them are out there.”
“I need enough evidence to get a search warrant, nothing more,” he said.
She nodded, then said softly, “I really have to go back now.”
“I need a minu
te to get a few things,” he told her.
“For what?”
“For the morning.”
“You can’t stay out there,” she protested.
“Yes, I can.”
“They’ll know! Someone will definitely get suspicious if you start staying out there.”
“No one is going to know.”
“And how can that be?”
He smiled grimly. “Because you’re going to sneak me into your room at night.”
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she stared at him.
“Jesse, I’ve told you, I’m a crack shot.”
“So was my wife,” he informed her softly.
Then he turned away.
Chapter 8
Harry was beside the canal, looking both anxious and edgy, when they returned in the airboat.
Lorena cast Jesse a quick frown to warn him that they had clearly made the man suspicious.
“What are you two doing out this late at night?” he demanded.
Jesse managed to look a little sheepish as he tied up the airboat and helped Lorena to the embankment. She was surprised that he bothered, and that he could sound so casual as he said, “Just trying to avoid a problem.”
“Maybe you want to let me in on it?” Harry said.
“We had a complaint, Harry,” Jesse said. “But don’t worry, it’s all been nipped in the bud.”
“What do you mean, don’t worry? I thought I owned this place!”
“Just some kid said he’d been bitten by a hatchling. Turns out, it was the kid’s fault. He was trying to steal it,” Jesse explained.
“Steal one of my hatchlings?” Harry looked enraged.
“Yep, and that’s why the parents have dropped the whole thing. I just needed Lorena’s account of the problem. There’s nothing to worry about, Harry. I thought it would be a minor thing, and it was. If there had been anything to worry about, naturally I would have spoken with you immediately.”