“What time is it?” She sat up, raked her fingers through her hair. She’d showered once they’d boarded the jet, and changed her clothes. Now she was tilting her head, peering across the aisle.
Raising his wrist, he looked at his watch. “About 3:00 a.m. We’re nearly there, but you could have slept a bit longer.”
She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she felt a bit dazed by the rapid series of shocks she’d undergone in the last twelve hours. It would be enough to sucker punch most other people. But if Amber was stunned at all it didn’t show. Instead, she looked at him steadily. “This could get you into trouble with Chatfield and the NOPD, couldn’t it?”
Her words gave him pause. Was she actually concerned about him? “I’ll call from the house in the Keys when we get there. I imagine they’ll be unhappy, but as long as I agree to bring you back when they catch the suspect, I don’t anticipate a problem.” At least, not a problem he’d concern himself with.
“The Keys?”
“A series of small islands off the coast of Florida. I’ve got a place on Key Largo. Have you ever been there?”
She merely shook her head, and he felt a flicker of impatience, one he ruthlessly squashed. She was as close-mouthed as any woman he’d ever met, determined to reveal nothing personal about herself at all. And because he recognized that her reticence mirrored his own, he also realized it was a wedge she used to prevent him from getting too close.
“Approaching the island. Landing in minutes.”
At the pilot’s voice, Nick gestured toward a chair. “We’ll need to put our seat belts back on.”
She did as he bade without comment, settling into the seat. Thoughtfully, his gaze lingered on the death grip she exerted on the armrests. Fear of flying? Or just of landings? He didn’t know, and already knew better than to ask.
Abruptly, his earlier impatience drained away. Getting to know Amber was a process of fitting miniscule pieces together in an effort to construct a bigger, constantly shifting picture. He fastened his own seat belt, feeling a flicker of anticipation. Before they left the island again, he vowed, he’d know everything there was to know about the woman.
“There are four bedrooms. Mine is the front one. You may take your pick from the other three.”
Rather than demurring politely, Amber took Nick at his word and followed him from one room to the other. She didn’t merely peek into the bedrooms, but walked inside and seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to the windows.
The scene from her apartment flashed into his mind. Don’t shut that! I like it open. And again he found himself wondering whether her desire for the open window was induced by preference or need.
“I’ll take this one,” she finally decided, after looking at the three selections. The one she’d chosen was across the hall from his, and faced the ocean. But he had a feeling it was the porch roof right below the window, rather than the spectacular view it afforded, that had decided her.
He didn’t comment on her choice, merely set her suitcase down near the closet. Then he turned to face her, hands tucked into his pockets. “There’s an adjoining bath, and I called ahead, had the kitchen fully stocked. Sleep as late as you want. I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll have a big breakfast.”
A small smile flickered across her mouth. “It’s already morning, and I rarely eat breakfast.”
He was striding to the door. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow. I’m going to start showing you some self-defense tactics. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”
At her silence he glanced back, saw her jaw hanging open. “No. Why would you want to do that?”
He reached the door, rested a hand on the jamb. “So you’ll feel safe, Amber.” While she was still regarding him from rounded eyes, he gently closed the door behind him, but didn’t walk away. Not yet. He waited. One minute. Two. Then he heard her footsteps, a pause, the slight scrape of wood against wood.
She’d opened the window.
From the position of the sun in the sky, Sara concluded that she’d slept far later than normal. She rarely had the opportunity to sleep late, and even more rarely, the inclination. Sleep meant dreaming, and her dreams had never made for restful nights.
As she showered and dressed, she considered the surreal sequence of events that had brought her here. Nick had managed their escape with ruthless efficiency. With her elbow in one hand and her suitcase in the other, he’d walked her out the front door of her apartment building, right up to the cruiser parked at the curb. He’d informed the officer inside that he planned to take Sara home with him, even inviting him to contact Chatfield about the idea. Nick had given him his address, then guided Sara to the car he’d parked illegally on the other side of the street.
Back at his family home, he had gently coerced her to eat a light dinner, and to speak with his grandmother again. Although it was obvious that Celeste was curious about her sudden reappearance, this time with Nick, she made no mention of it.
Then, following a timeline known only to himself, he’d risen, kissed his grandmother’s cheek and guided Sara out the back, across the grounds. When she’d seen the chopper on the pad waiting for them, the whole scene had taken on a James Bondish aura.
Mansions. Helicopters. Private jets. Beach homes. She’d lived in dozens of states over the last few years, donned as many identities. But her lifestyle had remained constant. With no friends or family to help her, no education, and credentials that wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, she worked minimum-wage jobs, staying in clean but cramped apartments. It was no surprise to her that money could make a great many things possible. But it did surprise her that Nick Doucet would use his to help her.
Toweling her hair with one hand now, she walked to the window. The sun turned the water a shattering blue that hurt the eyes even as it beckoned the body. She cupped a hand to shield her gaze and watched as a figure swam up to shore, then rose out of the ocean.
Nick. Her blood pumped warm and molten. He strode naked out of the water, like a mythical god rising from the waves. With his hair slicked back and that glorious body gilded by the sun, every bone, sinew and muscle was highlighted in sensuous detail.
Her mouth went abruptly dry. The day in the rain-storm…yesterday?…she’d guessed at the power in his lean hard body, but nothing in her experience would have led her to imagine the reality. She was unused to such imaginings, in any case.
At that moment he looked up, and their gazes met for an instant. An echo of the electricity that had flowed between them the day before flickered to life. Dismayed by the intensity of her reaction, she stepped away, strangely shaken. She was almost convinced that she had nothing to fear from the man.
But she was no longer certain she could make the same claim about herself.
When Nick offered her another Belgian waffle, she pushed her plate out of reach. “No, thanks. I usually work through breakfast, remember?”
“We’re going to have to change your eating habits. You need to build muscle.”
His casual assessment of her needs annoyed her. “I prefer my weak useless build, thanks.”
His dark eyes met hers. For an instant, she was reminded of the look they’d exchanged earlier when he’d caught her watching him come out of the ocean. When she’d admired his build. To hide her response at the memory, she reached for her orange juice.
“I was serious last night, Amber. For your own peace of mind you need to learn to defend yourself. I’m not suggesting it will help in every situation,