Disclosure: The McCaffertys

  “I guess I hadn’t gotten around to it,” she said, smiling at the thought of her brothers, who had once resented her, now fretting over her.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “So far, although I have a bone to pick with you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “And Matt and Thorne.”

  “It figures.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are hiring a bodyguard for me behind my back?” she demanded and saw, in the mirror’s reflection, Kurt Striker standing behind her. Their eyes met and there was something in his gaze that seemed to bore straight into hers, to touch her soul.

  Slade was trying to explain. “You need someone to help you—”

  “You mean I need a man to watch over me,” she cut in, irritated all over again. Frustrated, she turned her attention to the window, where just beyond the glass she could make out the angry waters of Lake Washington roiling in the darkness. “Well, for your information, brother dear, I can take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Slade’s sarcasm cut deep.

  Involuntarily, she squared her shoulders. “I’m serious.”

  “So are we.”

  Randi heard conversation in the background, not only the deep rumble of male voices, but others as well, the higher pitches of her sisters-in-law, no doubt, and rising above the rest of the conversation, the sharp staccato burst of Spanish that could only have come from Juanita, the housekeeper.

  “You tell her to be careful. Dios! What was she thinking running off like that!”

  More Spanish erupted and Slade said, “Did you hear that? Juanita thinks—”

  “I heard what she said.” Randi felt a pang of homesickness, which was just plain ludicrous. This was her home. Where she belonged. She had a life here in Seattle. At the newspaper. Here in this condo. And yet, as she stared out the window to the whitecaps whirling furiously on the black water, she wondered if she had made a mistake in returning to this bustling city that she’d fallen in love with years before. She liked the crowds. The noise. The arts. The history. The beauty of Puget Sound and the briny smell of the sea when she walked or jogged near the waterfront.

  But her brothers weren’t here.

  Nor were Nicole, Kelly or Jamie, her new sisters-in-law. They’d become friends and she missed them as well as Nicole’s daughters and the ranch and...

  Suddenly stiffening her spine, she pushed back all her maudlin thoughts. She was doing the right thing. Reclaiming her life. Trying to figure out who was hell-bent on harming her and her family. “Tell everyone I’m fine. Okay? A big girl. And I don’t appreciate you and Thorne and Matt hiring Striker.”

  “Well, that’s just too damn bad now, isn’t it?” he said, reigniting her anger.

  Her headache was throbbing again, she was so tired she wanted to sink into her bed and never wake up and, more than anything, she wished she could reach through the phone lines and shake some sense into her brothers. “You know, Slade, you really can be a miserable son of a bitch.”

  “I try,” he drawled in that damnable country-boy accent that was usually accompanied by a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

  She imagined his lazy smile. “Nice, Slade. Do you want to talk to your new employee?” Without waiting for an answer, she slammed the phone into Kurt Striker’s hand and stormed to her bedroom. This was insane, but she was tired of arguing about it, was bound and determined to get on with her life. She had a baby to take care of and a job to do.

  But what if they’re all right? What if someone really is after you? After Joshua? Didn’t you think someone had already broken into this place?

  Her gaze swept the bedroom. Nothing seemed disturbed...or did it? Had she left the curtains to the back deck parted? Had her closet door been slightly ajar...? She lifted her eyes, caught a glimpse of her reflection and saw a shadow of fear pass behind her own eyes. God, she hated this.

  She heard footsteps approaching and then, in the glass, saw Kurt walking down the short hallway and stop at the bedroom door.

  Her throat was suddenly dry as cotton and inadvertently she licked her lips. His gaze flickered to the movement and the corners of his mouth tightened, and just the hint of desperation, of lust, darkened his eyes.

  For a split second their gazes locked. Held. Randi’s pulse jumped, as if it were suddenly a living, breathing thing. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Inside, she felt a twinge, the hint of a dangerous craving she’d experienced last night.

  She knew that it would only take a glance, a movement, a whisper and he would come inside, close the door, take her into his arms and kiss her as if she’d never been kissed before. It would be hard, raw, desperate and they would oh, so easily tumble onto the bed and make love for hours.

  His lips compressed.

  He took a step inside.

  She could barely breathe.

  He reached forward, grabbed hold of the doorknob.

  Her knees went weak.

  Oh, God, she wanted him. Imagined touching him, lying with him, feeling the heat of his body. “Kurt, I...”

  “Shh, darlin’,” he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get some rest.” He offered her a wink that caused her heart to crack. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He pulled the door shut tight and she listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating down the short hallway.

  Slowly she let out the breath she’d been holding and sagged onto the bed. Disappointment mingled with relief. It would be a mistake of epic proportions to make love to him. She knew it. They both did. On unsteady legs she walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She reached for a bottle of ibuprofen and stopped short.

  What if someone had been in her home?

  What if someone had tampered with her over-the-counter medications? Her food?

  “Now you really are getting paranoid,” she muttered, as she poured the pills into the toilet and flushed them down.

  Paranoid, maybe.

  But alive for certain.

  Making her way back to the bedroom, she slid under the covers and decided that she could work with Striker or against him.

  With him would be a lot more interesting.

  And together they might be able to get through the nightmare that had become her life.

  Chapter 8

  He was lying next to her, his body hard and honed, skin stretched taut over muscles that were smooth and fluid as he levered up on one elbow to stare down at her. Green eyes glittered with a dark seductive fire that thrilled her and silently spoke of pleasures to come. With the fingers of one callused hand he traced the contours of her body. She tingled, her breasts tightening under his scrutinizing gaze, her nipples becoming hard as buttons. He leaned forward and scraped a beard-roughened cheek over her flesh. Deep inside, she felt desire stretching as it came awake.

  This was so wrong. She shouldn’t be in bed with Kurt Striker. What had she been thinking? How had this happened? She barely knew the man...and yet, the wanting was so intense, burning through her blood, chasing away her doubts, and as he bent to kiss her, she knew she couldn’t resist, that with just the brush of his hard lips on hers she would be lost completely—

  Bam!

  Her eyes flew open at the sound. Where was she? It was dark. And cold. She was alone in the bed—her bed—and she felt as if she’d slept for hours, her bladder stretched to the limit, her stomach rumbling for food.

  “Let’s go, Sleeping Beauty,” Kurt said from the vicinity of the doorway. She blinked and found him standing in the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching each side of the frame, his body backlit by the flickering light still cast from the living-room fire. In relief he seemed larger, more rugged. The kind of man to avoid.

  So she’d been dreaming about making love to him again. Only dreaming. Thank God. Not that the ache deep within her had subsided. Yes, she was in her own bed, but she was alone and fully dressed, just the way he’d left her minutes—or
had it been hours—before?

  “Wha—What’s the rush?” she mumbled, trying to shake off the remainder of that damnably erotic fantasy even though a part of her wanted to close her eyes and call it back. “So what happened to ‘shh, darlin’, you should get some rest’?” she asked sarcastically.

  He took a step into the room. “You got it. Slept for nearly eighteen hours, now it’s time to rock ’n’ roll.”

  “What? Eighteen hours...no...” She glanced at the bedside clock and the digital display indicated it was after three. “I couldn’t have...” But the bad taste in her mouth and the pressure on her bladder suggested he was right.

  Groaning, she thought about her job and the fact that she was irreparably late. Bill Withers was probably chewing her up one side and down the other. “I’m gonna get fired yet,” she muttered, then added, “Give me a sec.”

  Scrambling from beneath the warmth of her duvet, she stumbled over one of her shoes on her way to the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door, snapped on the light and cringed at her reflection. Within minutes she’d relieved herself, splashed water onto her face and brushed her teeth. Her face was a disaster, her short hair sticking up at all angles. The best she could do was wet it down and scrub away the smudges of mascara that darkened her eyes.

  Thankfully her headache was gone and she was thinking more clearly as she opened the door to the bedroom and found Kurt leaning against the frame, a strange look on his face. She yawned. “What?” she asked and then she knew. With drop-dead certainty. Her heart nearly stopped. “It’s the baby,” she said, fear suddenly gelling her blood. “Joshua. What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m having Sharon Okano’s place watched.”

  She was stunned and suddenly frantic and reached for the shoe she’d nearly tripped over. “You really think something might happen to him?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t want to take any chances.”

  She crammed the shoe onto her foot, then bent down, peering under the bed for its mate. Her mind was clearing a bit as she found the missing shoe and slid it on. Striker was jumping at shadows, that was it. Joshua was fine. Fine. He had to be.

  “Donahue’s in town.”

  She rocked back on her heels. The news hit her like a ton of bricks, but she tried to stay calm. “How do you know?”

  “He was spotted.”

  “By whom?”

  “Someone working for me.”

  “Working for you. Did my brothers hire an entire platoon of security guards or something?”

  “Eric Brown and I have known each other for years. He’s been watching Sharon Okano’s place.”

  “What? Wait! You’ve got someone spying on her?”

  His face was rigid. “I’m not ready to take any chances.”

  “Don’t you think someone lurking around will just draw attention to the place? You know, like waving some kind of red flag.”

  “He’s a little more discreet than that.”

  She shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs, trying to keep her rising sense of panic at bay. “Wait a minute. This doesn’t make any sense. Sam doesn’t know about Joshua. He has no idea that I was pregnant...and probably wouldn’t have cared one way or the other had he found out.”

  “You think.”

  “I’m pretty damn sure.” She straightened.

  “Then why would he be cruising by Sharon Okano’s place?”

  “Oh, God, I don’t know.” Her remaining calm quickly evaporated. She had to get to her baby, to see that he was all right. She made a beeline for the closet. “This is making less and less sense,” she muttered and was already reaching for a jacket. Glancing at her shoes, she saw a pair of black cowboy boots, one of which had fallen over. Boots she hadn’t worn since high school. Boots her father had given her and she’d never had the heart to give away. Ice slid through her veins as she walked closer and saw that the dust that had accumulated over the toes had been disturbed. Her throat went dry. “Dear God.”

  Kurt had followed her into the walk-in. He was pulling an overnight bag from an upper shelf. “Randi?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “What?”

  “Someone was in here.” Fear mixed with fury. “I mean...unless when you got here you came into my closet and decided to try on my cowboy boots.”

  “Your boots?” His gaze swept the interior of the closet to land upon the dusty black leather.

  “I haven’t touched them in months and look—”

  He was already bending down and seeing for himself. “You’re sure that you didn’t—”

  “No. I’m telling you someone was in here!” She tamped down the panic that threatened her, and fought the urge to kick at something. No one had the right to break into her home. No one.

  “Who else has a key?”

  “To this place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just me.”

  “Not Donahue?”

  “No!”

  “Sharon? Your brothers?”

  She was shaking her head violently. Was the man dense? “I’m telling you I never gave anyone a key, not even to come in and water the plants.”

  “What about a neighbor, just in case you lost yours?”

  “No! Jeez, Striker, don’t you get it? It’s just me. I even changed the locks when I bought the place so the previous owner doesn’t have a set rattling around in some drawer somewhere.”

  “Where do you keep the spare?”

  “One with me. One in the car. Another in my top desk drawer.”

  He was already headed down the hallway and into the living room with Randi right on his heels.

  “Show me.”

  “Here.” Reaching around him, she pulled open the center drawer, felt until her fingers scraped against cold metal, then pulled the key from behind a year-old calendar. “Right where I left it.”

  “And the one in your car.”

  “I don’t know. It was with me when I had the accident. I assume it was in the wreckage.”

  “You didn’t ask the police?”

  “I was in a coma, remember? When I woke up I was a mess, broken bones, internal injuries, and I had amnesia.”

  “The police inventoried everything in the car when it was impounded, so they must’ve found the key, right?” he insisted.

  “I... Jeez, I’m not sure, but I don’t think it was on the report. I saw it. I even have a copy somewhere.”

  “Back at the Flying M?”

  “No—I cleared everything out when I left. It’s here somewhere.” She located her briefcase and rifled through the pockets until she found a manila envelope. Inside was a copy of the police report about the accident and the inventory receipt for the impounded car. She skimmed the documents quickly.

  Road maps, registration, insurance information, three sixty-seven in change, a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of glass cleaner, other miscellaneous items but no key ring. “They didn’t find it.”

  “And you didn’t ask.”

  She whirled on him, crumpling the paper in her fist. “I already told you, I was laid up. I didn’t think about it.”

  “Hell.” Kurt’s lips compressed into a blade-thin line. His eyes narrowed angrily. “Come on.” He pocketed the key, slammed the drawer shut and stormed down the hallway to the bedroom. In three swift strides he was inside the closet again. He unzipped the overnight bag and handed it to her. “Here. Pack a few things. Quickly. And don’t touch the damn boots.” He disappeared again and she heard him banging in the kitchen before he returned with a plastic bag and started carefully sliding it over the dusty cowboy boots. “I’ve already got your laptop and your briefcase in the truck.”

  Suddenly she understood. He wanted her to leave. Now. His jaw was set, his expression hard as granite. “Now, wait a minute. I’m not leaving town. Not yet.” Things were moving too quickly, spinning out of control. “I just got home and I can’t up and take off again. I’ve got responsib
ilities, a life here.”

  “We’ll only be gone for a night or two. Until things cool off.”

  “We? As in you and me?”

  “And the baby.”

  “And go where?”

  “Someplace safe.”

  “This is my home.”

  “And someone’s been in here. Someone with the key.”

  “I can change the locks, Striker. I’ve got a job and a home and—”

  “And someone stalking you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it closed. She had to protect her baby. No matter what else. Yes, she needed to find out who was hell-bent on terrorizing her, but her first priority was to keep Joshua safe, and the truth of the matter was, Randi was already out of her mind with worry. Striker’s concerns only served to fuel her anxiety. She was willing to bet he wasn’t the kind of man to panic easily. And he was visibly upset. Great. She began throwing clothes into the overnight bag. “I can’t take any chances with Joshua,” she said.

  “I know.” His voice had a hint of kindness tucked into the deep timbre and she had to remind herself that he’d been hired to be concerned. Though she didn’t believe that the money he’d been promised was his sole motivation in helping her, it certainly was a factor. If he kept both her and her son’s skins intact, Striker’s wallet would be considerably thicker. “Let’s get a move on.”

  She was through arguing for the moment. No doubt Striker had been in more than his share of tight situations. If he really felt it was necessary to take her and her son and hide out for a while, so be it. She zipped the bag closed and ripped a suede jacket from its hanger. Was it her imagination or did it smell slightly of cigarette smoke?

  Now she was getting paranoid. No one had been wearing her jacket. That was nuts.

  Gritting her teeth, she fought the sensation that she’d been violated, that an intruder had pried into her private space. “I assume you’ve got some kind of plan.”

  “Yep.” He straightened, the boots properly bagged.

  “And that you’re going to share it with me.”

  “Not yet.”