“Why not?” he said. And then he froze.
Entering through the open doorway at the far end of the living room was Vane Walters. He was followed by three men. All short or balding, unprepossessing. The kind of people who could disappear easily in a crowd.
But Cole didn’t take the time to study them thoroughly…now. His eyes were glued on Vane’s.
He didn’t blurt out the invectives that sprang to his lips. He was too well-schooled for that.
Alexa’s quick step forward abruptly shifted Cole’s gaze to her. “John O’Rourke,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my partner at the Hideaway, my fiancé, Vane Walters.”
Was there a tremor in her voice?
Cole didn’t look down at her. “Hi, Vane,” he said in a hearty salesman’s voice. He approached Vane with his hand out and his heart beating faster. Alexa had seemed to recognize him before seeing him closer, talking to him. Would Vane?
“Hello,” Vane said. He didn’t look pleased to see the man whose hand he shook, but neither was there recognition in his stare.
“You’ve got a great place,” Cole said. “I’m glad you had a room available. Alexa’s going to show it to me now.”
“Fine,” said Vane.
Cole saw a look pass between Alexa and Vane. He couldn’t interpret it. But then Vane glanced back at Cole.
“I hope you enjoy your stay here, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“John,” Cole corrected. “I’m sure I will.”
And he was equally sure that Vane—and Alexa—would rue the day John O’Rourke ever took a room at the Hideaway By The Lake.
“IT’S PERFECT.” John O’Rourke stepped behind Alexa into the cubbyhole of a room that she had opened for him. He was so large that his shoulders, beneath his loose green shirt, seemed to stretch from one oak-paneled wall to the opposite, painted one. At least his head didn’t touch the high ceiling. But the bed was a normal-size double with a plain pine headboard, and Alexa suspected his feet would hang off the end—not that she intended ever to find out.
“You’re sure it’s all right?” Alexa tried to sound hopeful, though her real hope was that he would hate it. She had had angry words with Vane again as she had come upstairs to make sure the room was ready. He had reminded her of his acute displeasure with her by his glare a few minutes earlier. Maybe she had been wrong in picking this particular small rebellion. She had much larger ones to plan.
But first she had to figure out a way to protect her parents.
“I don’t have any rooms available with a lake view,” she continued, “and this one looks out on the neighbor’s property.” She pointed toward the window with the lacy curtains she had sewn herself.
“That’s fine. I mostly wanted to be near the lake so I can jog beside it. Is that the bathroom?” He pointed toward a closed wooden door.
He was standing near her. She could almost imagine she felt his body heat mingling with her own….
Where had that thought come from?
“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Would you like to see it?” Alone, she thought. I’m not going to go show it to you. She felt her face redden. The thought of John O’Rourke in the small shower stall, naked and dripping and utterly, masculinely, erotically filling it, made her think yet again of Cole Rappaport. Showering with him. Making long, slow, wet love with him in a similar shower stall up here, in this inn at Skytop Lake where they had stayed together.
Just before he had died. And hell had broken loose.
The bubble that was her euphorically sensuous recollection burst abruptly. She had to get hold of herself. Her mind had been spiraling into chaos ever since she had first spotted this man, just because his stride had somehow reminded her of Cole.
John crossed the room and peered into the bathroom. He turned back, a pleasant smile on his much-too-handsome face. “It’s great. I’ll take it.”
“Good,” she lied, wishing now she had never agreed to let him have a room. She needed all her senses to be sharp, her mind keen. “Come downstairs to fill out the paperwork, then you can get settled. I have to work on dinner.”
“That’s right—the lady in the food store said you have a gourmet restaurant here.”
Oh, please, she thought. I don’t want to see you this evening. But at least he would provide a respite from the other guests whom she was required to serve. Still, she said, “Yes, though there are other good restaurants in the area. Don’t feel obligated to—”
“I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere else,” he said.
He followed her out of the room. Behind her on the stairs to the main floor, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“It’s Mexican.” Maybe he didn’t like spicy foods. “I usually do two main dishes. The specialty tonight is chile rellenos, my own recipe—very hot. I also have quesadillas with beef and jalapeño cheese. Both are served with a seasoned taco salad.”
“All spicy?”
“Yes.” Please, thought Alexa. Tell me how much you detest things that are hot. But turning to look at him, she suspected that this man was himself very hot. Fiery. Especially if he was anything like Cole. And maybe that ran to his taste in food, as well.
“There’s nothing I like better than food that puts hair on my chest.”
Involuntarily glancing up toward the shock of black, curly hair peeking from the open V of his shirt, Alexa smiled uncertainly. But what about the sauce you bought? Alexa wanted to ask. It was mild. She said nothing. Instead, she fled down the rest of the steps.
COLE HAD UNPACKED his few belongings, hanging a couple of shirts in the handsome, carved teak wardrobe along one wall, finding places to conceal his equipment. He had begun to settle into his room at the inn. This inn that held so many bittersweet memories. Alexa’s inn.
Alexa’s…and Vane’s. He could not allow himself to forget that it belonged to the two of them.
The two of them, together, now. And before.
The man he had loved like a brother…and the woman he had loved more than life.
Fortunately, though the room was small, it had its own phone, so he had been able to use the modem in his laptop. Sitting on the bed, on top of the homey chenille bedspread, Cole glared at the screen.
Not that he was surprised, after his earlier phone call, at the contents of the encrypted e-mail from Forbes Bowman that he’d just deciphered. But it made his stay here even more necessary.
He had come to Skytop Lake because of the latest intelligence from his most reliable overseas contacts. According to rumor, the terrorist operation that had supposedly ended with the blast meant to kill Cole had apparently been resurrected—and the trail led straight here.
Reports of several field agents had been due today, concurrent with Cole’s arrival. According to Forbes’s e-mail, they had hit only dead ends. There was no information yet on any similar operations anywhere in the country. Either this inn was the only location, or the agency’s sources were not yet coming through.
Last time, there had been at least half a dozen havens for foreign terrorist agents sent for training and preparation for dispersal to strategic facilities all over the U.S. Maybe more. All the havens had been a part of the Kenner Hotels—the elite chain that had been owned by Alexa’s family.
The elite chain that no longer existed, thanks to the events of two years ago.
Back then, Cole had been undercover, seeking to learn the terrorists’ goal. He hadn’t succeeded. All he had known was that