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