“You weren’t invited.”
“Your brothers are concerned.”
“They can’t control me.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “No? They might disagree.”
“Big deal,” she said, tossing her head and pretending to be tough. The truth was that she loved all of her older half brothers, all three of them, but she couldn’t have them poking around in her life. Nor did she want anything to do with Kurt Striker. He was just too damn male for his own good. Or her own. He’d proved that much last night. “Listen, Striker, this is my life. I can handle it. Now, if you’d be so kind as to take your hands off me,” she said, sarcasm dripping from the pleasantry, “I have a lot to do.”
He stared at her long and hard, those sharp green eyes seeming to penetrate her own. Then he lifted a shoulder and released her. “I can wait.”
“Elsewhere.”
His smile was pure devilment. “Is that a hint?” he drawled, and again her heart began to trip-hammer. Damn the man.
“A broad one. Take a hike.”
“Only if you show me the city.”
“What?”
“I’m new in town. Humor me.”
“You mean so you can keep an eye on me.”
Curse the sexy smile that crawled across his jaw. “That, too.”
“Forget it. I’ve got a million things to do,” she said, flipping up a hand to indicate the telephone where no light blinked on her answering machine. “That’s odd,” she muttered then glanced back at Striker, whom she was beginning to believe was the embodiment of Lucifer. “Wait a minute. You listened to my messages?” she demanded, fury spiking up her spine.
“No, I actually didn’t.”
She made her way to the desk and pushed the play button on the recorder. “That’s odd,” she said as she recognized Sarah Peeples’s voice.
“Hey, when are you coming back to work?” Sarah asked. “It’s soooo boooring with all these A-type males.” She giggled. “Well, maybe not that boring, but I miss ya. Give me a call and kiss Joshua for me.” The phone clicked as Sarah hung up.
Randi bit her lower lip. Her mind was spinning as she jabbed a finger at the recorder. “You didn’t listen to this?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Not you?” he asked and his eyes narrowed.
“No, not me.” Her skin crawled. If Striker hadn’t listened to her messages, then...who had? Her headache pounded. Maybe she was jumping at shadows. She was worried about her baby, exasperated with the man in her apartment and just plain tired from the long drive and the few hours’ sleep she’d had in the past forty-eight hours. That was it, her nerves were just strung tight. Her brothers hiring this sexy, roughshod P.I. only made things worse. She rubbed her temple and tried to think clearly. “Look, Striker, you can’t barge in here, help yourself to a beer, then sit back and make yourself at home...”
His expression reminded her that he’d done just that.
“So far,” she went on, “I think you’ve committed half a dozen crimes. Breaking and entering, burglary, trespassing and who knows what else. The police would have a field day.”
“So where’s your son?” he asked, refusing to be sidetracked. “J.R. Where is he?”
She’d known that was coming. “I call him Joshua.”
“Okay, where’s Josh?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“There is nowhere that’s safe.”
Her insides crumbled. “You’re wrong.”
“So you are afraid that someone is after you.”
“I’m a mother. I’m not taking any chances with him.”
“Only with yourself.”
“Let’s not get into this.” She pressed a button and the answering machine rewound.
“Is he with your cousin Nora?”
Her muscles tensed. How had he learned about Nora, on her mother’s side? Her brothers had never met Nora.
“Or maybe Aunt Bonita, your mother’s stepsister?”
God, he’d done his homework. Her head thundered, her palms suddenly sweaty. “It’s none of your business, Striker.”
“How about your friend Sharon?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s where I’m putting my money.”
She froze. How could he have guessed that she would leave her precious child with Sharon Okano? She and Sharon hadn’t seen each other in nearly nine months, and yet Striker had figured it out.
“You wouldn’t take a chance on a relative, or you would have left him in Montana, and your coworkers are out because they might slip up, so it had to be someone you trusted, but not obvious enough that it would be easy to figure it out.”
Her heart constricted.
He reached forward and touched her shoulder. She recoiled as if burned.
“If I can guess where you hid him, so can the guy who’s after you.”
“How did you find Sharon?” she asked. “I’m not buying the ‘lucky guess’ theory.”
Kurt walked to the coffee table and picked up his beer. “It wasn’t rocket science, Randi.”
“But—”
“Even cell phones have records.”
“You went through my mail to find my phone bill? Isn’t that a federal offense, or don’t you care about that?” she asked, then her eyes swept the desk and she realized that he couldn’t have sorted through the junk mail and correspondence that was hers, as she’d had it held at the post office ages ago.
“It doesn’t matter how I got the information,” he said. “What’s important is that you and your son aren’t safe. Your brothers hired me to protect you, and like it or not, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He drained his beer in one long swallow. “Fight me all you want, Randi, but I intend to stick to you like glue. You can call your brothers and complain and they won’t budge. You can run away, but I’ll catch you so quick it’ll make your head spin. You can call the cops and we’ll get to the bottom of this here and now. That’s just the way it is. So, you can make it easy for everyone and tell me what the hell’s going on or you can be difficult and we’ll go at it real slow.” He set his bottle on one end of the coffee table and as he straightened, his eyes held hers with deadly intensity. “Either way.”
“Get out.”
“If that’s the way you want it. But I’ll be back.”
So angry she was shaking, she repeated, “Get the hell out.”
“You’ve got one hour to think about it,” he advised her as he made his way to the door. “One hour. Then I’ll be back. And if we have to, we’ll do this the hard way. It’s your choice, Randi, but the way I see it, you’re damn near out of options.”
He walked outside and the door shut behind him. Randi threw the bolt, swore under her breath and fought the urge to crumple into a heap. She forced starch into her spine. Nothing was ever accomplished by falling into a million pieces. It was hard to admit it, but Kurt Striker was right about one thing; she didn’t have many choices. Well, that was tough. She wasn’t going to be railroaded into making a wrong one.
Too much was at stake.
Chapter 4
Kurt slid behind the wheel of his rental, a bronze king-cab pickup. The windows were a little fogged, so he cracked one and turned on the defrost to stare through the rivulets of rain sliding down the windshield. He’d give her an hour to sort things out, the same hour he’d give himself to cool off. There was something about the woman that got under his skin and put him on edge.
From the first moment he’d seen her at the Flying M, he’d sensed it—that underlying tension between them, an unacknowledged current that simmered whenever they were in the same room. It was stupid, really. He wasn’t one to fall victim to a woman’s charms, especially not a spoiled brat of a woman who had grown up as the apple of her father’s eye, a rich girl who’d had everything handed to her.
Oh, she was pretty enough. At least she was now that the bruises had disappeared and her hair was growing back. In fact, she was a knockout. Pure and simpl
e. Despite her recent pregnancy, her body was slim, her breasts large enough to make a man notice, her hips round and tight. With her red-brown hair, pointed little chin, pouty lips and wide brown eyes, she didn’t need much makeup. Her mind was quick, her tongue rapier sharp and she’d made it more than clear that she wanted him to leave her alone. Which would be best for everyone involved, he knew, but there was just something about her that kept drawing him in and firing his blood.
Forget it. She’s your client.
Not technically. She hadn’t hired him.
But her brothers had.
You have to keep this relationship professional.
Relationship? What relationship? Hell, she can’t stand to be in the same room with me.
Oh, yeah, right. Like you haven’t been through this before. And like last night never happened.
She’d put Joshua in his room and then after Kurt had sneaked down the stairway, she’d followed him and found him in the darkened living room where only embers from a dying fire gave off any illumination.
He’d already poured himself a drink and was sipping it quietly while staring through the icy window to the blackened remains of the stable.
“You were watching me,” she’d accused, and he’d nodded, not turning around. “Why?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Bull!”
So she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. So be it. He took a sip of his drink before facing her.
“What the hell were you doing upstairs?”
“I thought I heard someone, so I checked.”
“You did. It was me. This house is full of people, you know.” She was so angry, he could feel her heat, noticed that she hadn’t bothered buttoning her nightgown, acted as if she was completely unaware that her breasts were visible.
“Do you want me to explain or not?”
“Yeah. Try.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, involuntarily lifting them, causing the cleft between them to deepen. Kurt kept his gaze locked with hers.
“As I said, I heard something. Footsteps. I just walked upstairs and down the hall. By the time I started for the stairs you were there.”
“And the rest, as they say, is history.” She arched an eyebrow and her lips were pursed hard together. “Get a good look?”
“Good enough.”
“Like what you saw?”
He couldn’t help himself. One side of his mouth lifted. “It was all right.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen better.”
“Oh, for the love of St. Jude!” she sputtered, and even in the poor light, he noticed a flush stain her cheeks.
“What did you expect, Randi? You caught me looking, okay? I didn’t plan it, but there you were and I was...caught. I guess I could have cleared my throat and walked down the stairs, but I was a little...surprised.” His smile fell away and he took another long swallow. “We’re both adults, let’s forget it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Not that easy.”
Her eyes narrowed up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re pretty unforgettable.”
“Yeah, right.” She ran her fingers through her hair and her nightgown shifted, allowing him even more of a view of her breasts and abdomen. As if finally feeling the breeze, she sucked in her breath and looked down to see her breasts. “Oh, wonderful.” She fumbled with the buttons. “Here I am ranting and raving and putting on a show and...”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I lied before. I’ve never seen better.”
She shook her head and laughed. “This is ridiculous.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Of my dad’s liquor? I don’t think so. I...I might do something I’ll regret.”
“You think?”
She let out a breath, glanced him up and down and nodded. “Yeah, I think.”
He should have stopped himself right then while he still had a chance of taking control of the situation, but he didn’t and tossed back his drink. “Maybe regrets are too highly overrated,” he said, dropping his glass onto a chair and closing the distance between them. He noticed her pulse fluttering on the smooth skin of her throat, knew that she was as scared as he was.
But it had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman and he’d been thinking about how it would feel to kiss Randi McCafferty for weeks. Last night, he’d found out. He’d wrapped his arms around her and as a gasp slipped from between her lips, he’d slanted his mouth over hers and felt his blood heat. Her arms had instinctively climbed to his shoulders and her body had fitted tight against him.
Warning bells had clanged in his mind, but he’d ignored them as his tongue had slipped between her teeth and his erection had pressed hard against his fly. She was warm and tasted of lingering coffee. His fingers splayed across her back and as she moaned against him, he slowly started inching her nightgown upward, bunching the soft flannel in his fingers as her hemline climbed up her calves and thighs. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to use his weight to carry them both to the rug in front of the dying fire...
Now, as he sat in his pickup with the rain beating against his windshield, Striker scowled at the thought of what he’d done. He’d known better than to kiss her, had sensed it wouldn’t stop there. He didn’t need the complications of a woman.
He hazarded a glance at the third finger of his left hand where he could still see the deep impression a ring had made as it had cut into his skin. The muscles in the back of his neck tightened and a few dark thoughts skated through his mind. Thoughts of another woman...another beautiful woman and a little girl...
Angry with the turn of his thoughts, he forced his gaze to Randi’s condominium. This particular grouping of units rested on a hillside overlooking Lake Washington. He’d parked across the street where he had a clear view of her front door, the only way in or out of the condo, unless she decided to sneak out a window. Even then, he’d see her Jeep leaving. Unless she was traveling on foot, he’d be able to follow her.
He glanced at his watch. She had forty-seven minutes to cool off and get herself together. And so did he. Leaning across the seat, he grabbed his battered briefcase and reached inside where he kept an accordion folder on the McCafferty case. With one eye on the condominium, he riffled through the pages of notes, pictures and columns he’d clipped out of the Seattle Clarion, columns with a byline of Randi McCafferty and accompanied by a smiling picture of the author.
“Solo,” by Randi McCafferty.
Hers was an advice column for singles, from the confirmed bachelors to the newly divorced, the recently widowed or anyone else who wrote in, claimed not to be married and asked for her opinion. Striker reread a few of his favorites. In one, she advised a woman suffering from abuse to leave the relationship immediately and file charges. In another she told an overly protective single mother to give her teenage daughter “breathing space” while keeping in touch. In still another, she suggested a widower join a grief-support group and take up ballroom dancing, something he and his wife had always wanted to do. Her columns were often empathetic, but sometimes caustic. She told one woman who couldn’t decide between two men and was lying to them both to “grow up,” while she advised another young single to “quit whining” about his new girlfriend, who sometimes parked in “his” spot while staying over. Within each bit of advice, Randi often added a little humor. It was no wonder the column had been syndicated and picked up in other markets.
Yet there were rumors of trouble at the Clarion. Randi McCafferty and her editor, Bill Withers, were supposedly feuding. Striker hadn’t figured out why. Yet. But he would. Randi had also written some articles for magazines under the name of R. J. McKay. Then there was her unfinished tell-all book on the rodeo circuit, one she wouldn’t talk much about. A lot going on with Ms. McCafferty. Yep, he thought, leaning back and staring at the front door of her place, she was an interesting woman, and one definitely off-limits.
Well, h
ell, weren’t they all? He scowled through the raindrops zigzagging down his windshield and his thoughts started to wend into that forbidden territory of his past, to a time that now seemed eons ago, before he’d become jaded. Before he’d lost his faith in women. In marriage. In life. A time he didn’t want to think about. Not now. Not ever.
* * *
“He’s okay?” Randi said into her cell phone. Her hands were sweaty, her mind pounding with fear, and it was all she could do to try to calm her rising sense of panic. Despite her bravado and in-your-face attitude with Striker, she was shaky. Nervous. His warnings putting her on edge, and now, as she held the cell phone to her ear and peered through the blinds to the parking lot where Kurt Striker’s pickup was parked, her heart was knocking.
“You dropped him off less than an hour ago,” Sharon assured her. “Joshua’s just fine. I fed him, changed him and put him down for a nap. Right now he’s sleeping like a...well, a baby.”
Randi let out her breath, ran a shaking hand over her lip. “Good.”
“You’ve got to relax. I know you’re a new mother and all, but believe me, whatever you’re caught up in, stressing out isn’t going to help anyone. Not you, not the baby. So take a chill pill.”
“I wish,” Randi said, only slightly relieved.
“Do it... Take your own advice. You’re always telling people in your column to take a step back, a deep breath and reevaluate the situation. You still belong to the gym, don’t you? Take yoga or tae kwon do or kickboxing.”
“You think that would do it?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“Just as long as I know Joshua’s safe.”
“And sound. Promise.” Sharon sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you might consider going out. You know, with a man.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just because you had a bad experience with one doesn’t mean they’re all jerks.”
“I had a bad experience with more than one.”
“Well...it wouldn’t kill you to give romance a chance.”