“That’s right, Charlie Caldwell. Check prison records. See if any of Donahue’s buddies have done time…. Okay… You can reach me on the cell, that would be best.” He was walking to the desk. “I’ll be in the condo, but let’s not use the landline. I checked, it doesn’t appear bugged, but I’m not sure.”
Randi’s blood chilled at the thought that someone could have tampered with her phone lines or crept into her home while she was away. But then Striker hadn’t had any problem getting inside. He might not have been the first. Her skin crawled as she looked over her belongings with new eyes. Suede couch, faux leopard-print chair and ottoman, antique rocker, end tables she’d found in a secondhand store and her great-grandmother’s old treadle sewing machine that stood near the window. The cacti were thriving, the Boston fern shedding and near death, the mirror over her fireplace, the one she’d inherited from her mother, still chipped in one corner. Nothing out of place. Nothing to give her pause.
And yet…something wasn’t right. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Just like the eerie sensation that she was being watched when she parked her Jeep.
“Later.” Striker snapped the phone shut and watched as Randi walked to her desk, double-checking that nothing had been disturbed. She’d already done a quick once-over when she’d come home earlier, but now, knowing that her phone could have been tapped, her home violated, her life invaded by an unknown assailant, she wanted to make certain that everything was as it should be.
Her phone rang and she nearly jumped through the roof. She snagged the receiver before it could jangle a second time.
“Hello?” she said, half expecting a deep-throated voice on the other end to issue a warning, or heavy breathing to be her only response.
“So you did get home!”
Randi nearly melted at the sound of Slade’s voice. He was her youngest half brother, closest to her in age. Slade had been born with the same McCafferty wild streak that had cursed all of John Randall’s children. Slade had just held on to his untamed ways longer than his older brothers.
“I thought you’d have the brains to call and tell us you’d arrived safely,” he admonished, and she felt a twinge of guilt.
“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