For Her Eyes Only (9 page)

Chapter Ten

He sidled up to the closed curtains, conscious not to touch the fabric and give away his presence. He tried to peer through the gap, but couldn’t see much at this angle.

He stepped to the side, until he came to one end of the curtain, away from the middle gap. Raising one finger, he slowly slid it behind the drape and gently, infinitesimally, moved the fabric to peer outside. He held his breath, making sure the movement was slow, gradual.

He peered into the darkness outside. The snow on the ground gave the stone-enclosed terrace an eerie glow in the darkness. The surrounding pine trees obscured whatever light the high walls didn’t block, creating a haunting pocket of gloom.

Nothing.

He scanned the terrace, his eyes cataloging every minute movement and detail. The breeze that fanned the branches of the pine trees visible over the wall. The bird that took flight into the darkness. An owl. The shadow cast by the stone wall. Nothing.

Nobody.

But he was sure it hadn’t been the wind. Even though the higher branches moved, it was a slow, freaky dance, not caused by a wind strong enough to rattle the door in its frame. No, something else had done that.

He scanned the area again, and froze. Just in front of the door were slight impressions in the snow.

Footprints.

And not from a curious rabbit, either. No, those footprints were definitely human.

He frowned. Someone had tried to break into their suite while they were asleep. He wasn’t sure what had caused them to run. Maybe he had made a sound, but he doubted it. Maybe the lock on the door was a little trickier than they’d estimated. Either way, there was no sign of the intruder now. He eyed the stone wall. They must have scaled it. It wouldn’t be difficult.

He dropped his hand and looked up at the bed in the sleeping area. Vicky was still sleeping, oblivious to any potential danger.

Just the way it should be.

He crossed to his sofa and lay down, raising his hands behind his head and gazing up at the dark bed. He couldn’t quite see her, but he could hear her, her deep breathing signaling an end to her tortured dreams.

I’ll watch over you.
His personal vow fired a new determination in his gut.

* * *

Ryan pressed the light on his watch. 5:09 a.m.
Damn
. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. What a hellish night. Intruder aside, he’d barely slept a wink. Some of it his fault. Most of it hers. He glared at the bed on the upper level.

He’d enjoyed teasing Vicky last night with his little strip tease. Payback for the afternoon bath. He’d seen her blush—heck, Google Earth would have seen her blush. He’d also seen the appreciation she’d tried to hide, the attraction. He hadn’t meant to drive her to the bible, was still trying to process that, but it had been fun, knowing he could turn her on with the flick of a shirt button. And that was his fault. Trying to arouse her had backfired on him, and he’d ended up standing under a cold damned shower for as long as he could stand it, and then fantasizing about what she was wearing. Or not.

And then her nightmares had started, creating all sorts of protective urges that he simply couldn’t remember feeling for a long, long time. There hadn’t been another incident, not outside the suite, anyway. He should have been able get some rest.

But no. The woman humphed in her sleep. She rolled in her sleep. She moaned in her sleep. She kicked in her sleep. And she talked. The damned woman would not shut up. “The broccoli’s on the stove.” “No, not SpongeBob.” Oh, and his favorite, “More sugar, please.”
What the hell?
And she’d been out cold the whole time. He’d checked. The third time she’d startled him.

“Maybe next Thursday,” Vicky now muttered from the bed.

He rolled his eyes. Okay. That’s
it
. He flung the blankets off and rolled from the sofa. He was going for a run. There had to be some sort of gym somewhere, with all the salad-eating, weight-conscious clients who stayed here.

He quickly dressed in running clothes and threw some ski gear on over the top, checked the resort manual for the gym details, and left the cabin.

It was damn cold outside. He trudged over the snow toward the main building. He wouldn’t expect the guest transport to be operating at this early hour.

It didn’t take him long to find the resort gym and change. It was blissfully silent. No rustle of bed sheets. No mutterings. No sexy little sighs. With only the discrete hum of the air-conditioning to distract him, he settled himself into an eight-mile run on the treadmill. Hopefully that would wear off some of his energy.

He’d finished his run and was working his way through a weights training program when the door to the gym opened.

Deborah walked in, a white towel draped over one shoulder. She’d taken a few steps in before she noticed Ryan, and she paused.

“Oh, hi there. I didn’t realize anybody would be in this early.”

Ryan finished his biceps curl. “I usually try to get in a workout before work.”

Deborah walked up to an exercise bike and draped her towel over the handle grips. “Hmm, I try to get a workout in every day, too.” She picked a program and started pedaling. “I need to get in shape.”

Ryan’s eyebrow rose. “You already look like you’re in good shape.” He didn’t mean it as a come-on, although Deborah did give him a second assessing look before smiling at him. The woman wore Lycra shorts and a crop top, and from what he could see, she was already in good shape. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her face was perfectly made up—which didn’t make any sense to him, because don’t you tend to sweat during a workout? Unless she was hiding scars underneath the war paint?

He wished they had more information on Jade Maxwell other than the general description from her police file. At least her outfit might reveal some surgical scars. This might be a good opportunity to get a closer look.

“Thanks,” she huffed, not pausing in her pedaling. “I’ve been out of the country for the last few months, out of my usual routine.”

“Oh, holiday? Where?” Like at a Chicago hospital getting a facial reconstruction?

“Switzerland.”

Uh-huh. Switzerland, Chicago. Same difference. “Switzerland is nice this time of year. I know it well. Where did you go?”

Deborah shrugged. “Oh, here and there. Mainly in the Alps.” No details, and she kept her eyes focused on the readout on the exercise bike.

“Oh? Zermatt? Gimmelwald? Or Berhnoff? I love Bernhoff, personally.”

Deborah smiled. “Yes, somewhere around there,” she panted, then dropped her gaze to the bike again.

Ryan nodded.
Uh-huh
. He’d made that last place up. He continued with his reps, lifting them slowly to get maximum effort from the muscle groups he was working.

“Hmm, I find that those places are very tempting. You end up staying longer than you expect. How long were you there for?” Enough time to fit in with the estimated recuperation time for having surgery?

Deborah laughed. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. We were there for a few weeks.” She stopped pedaling, hopped off the bike and immediately did some quad stretches.

Okay
,
the woman was being deliberately evasive.

Ryan placed the free weights back on their racks and the dumbbells neatly in their wall positions. The damn things gleamed.
Must not get used very much.

Deborah bent her arms over her head and performed some basic biceps and triceps stretches before approaching the weight rack.

“Need a spotter?” Ryan offered. Helping her with her weights could give him an opportunity to get closer to her without being obvious, see if she had any faint scarring that could be a result of extensive face reconstruction.

Deborah laughed and held up a hand. “Oh, no, I don’t do anything heavy. Not looking to build, just tone.” She patted her flat tummy. “Besides, I don’t want to strain. It’s against doctor’s orders.” Her smile faltered, and she turned abruptly to survey the weight equipment.

Doctor’s orders
,
huh?
Ryan lifted his arms to stretch the muscles and warm down after his routine. This case could be a slam dunk. Deborah had been “out of the country” for a period of time. It could be that she was lying, and had been recuperating in Chicago after several operations on her face. Was Deborah really Jade Maxwell?

He watched as the petite woman moved to another section sporting lighter, fixed weights, and she lifted down a pretty pair of purple (
purple?
) dumbbells and crossed over to the treadmill. She smiled at him as she selected the program on the machine and started jogging.

Okay, so that was the end of the conversation. At the rate she was running and pumping her arms, she wouldn’t be able to talk further, and if he approached her now, it could look like either a flirtatious come-on or an uncomfortable stalker approach—neither was the effect he was after.

He nodded at her as he grabbed up his towel. “See you at the group session,” he said casually.

She nodded and gave a halfhearted wave with the light dumbbell and continued running.

He changed and made his way back to his cabin. He needed to talk to Drew, get him to make some calls. Deborah’s details needed to be checked. He smiled. This case could be sorted by lunchtime. He and Vicky could be on their way home. He thought of the woman he’d left sleeping, and his smile faltered. They needed to solve this case ASAP. Last night had been sheer torture. He didn’t know how long he could hold out before he gave in to temptation. And that would ruin everything.

He swiped his card and entered the lodge. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. His blankets were tumbled on the sofa. Vicky was snoring faintly underneath a mountain of bed linen...and her things lay strewn all over the bedroom.

He pursed his lips. Her gown lay on the floor, and he bent to pick it up, tripping over a killer heel as he did so. He picked up the offending article. It was...lethal.

He hung her dress in the wardrobe, and looked dubiously at the jewelry, hair combs and cosmetics strewn in a jumble across the dressing table. He shook his head. Women sure used a lot of crap.

He turned and looked at the bed. Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty. He wanted to talk to Vicky about Deborah, let her in on his suspicions. He walked to the head of the bed, and the painting above the bed caught his eye. He reminded himself that somebody, somewhere, was listening into their conversation.

“Cassie, wake up.”

Nothing. Not even a rustle of a sheet.

“Cassie.” This time he said it louder.

There was a soft little sigh, and the mound of blankets shifted, just a little. He arched an eyebrow. She was dead to the world.

He pulled the sheets back from the head of the bed. Two feet, with pink-tipped toes lay on the pillow. He frowned, trying to follow the shape of the body beneath the blankets until he figured where her head was, and pulled the blankets back. A mass of golden red curls obscured her face.

Raising a finger, he gently swept back some of the hair. Vicky’s cheeks were sleep-flushed, her lips in a relaxed pout. He smiled. He’d never seen her look so peaceful. She was always so busy, so active. Now, she looked very Zen. He hoped she woke up switched on. With the listening devices planted about the room, she needed to have her cover in place from the moment her eyes opened.

“Wake up, Cassie,” he said. He deliberately used her cover name.

Vicky’s eyes flicked open, and she lurched, rolling over to the side. She would have fallen out of the bed if he hadn’t caught her.

“What? Who?” She blinked, swaying. “I’m awake. Where am—wha?”

Okay, so she didn’t wake up “in the zone.” “Good morning, Cassie.”

She looked at him and frowned. “What? Ry—”

He clapped a hand over her mouth and jerked his chin to the painting. Slowly the dazed confusion left her gaze, and she nodded.

“Good morning, Peter.” Her brow wrinkled. “What time is it?”

“Time you got up, sleepyhead. We need to go eat breakfast and be in the lounge for the first session, so we’d better start getting ready.”

She eyed him, seeming to notice his clothing for the first time. “You’re dressed.”

“You know me, Cass, I like to work out in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah.” She wrinkled her brow, and managed to look cute and sexy all at once.

“Come on, let’s go shower.”

Her jaw dropped and she shook her head. “No.” Her tone was emphatic. Final. He sighed. He needed to tell her about his conversation with Deborah in the gym. He pulled the covers back.

“Come one, I’ll soap your back, honey.” He jerked his head meaningfully at the bathroom door.

She nodded, finally catching his drift. “Fine.” Excited to share a shower with him, she was not. Fortunately, whoever was listening in would expect some friction, some distance between a couple. So Vicky had done good with creating that impression. It didn’t have to mean he liked it. Or that he’d admit it to her face.

She rose from the bed, and Ryan tried to, too, but stopped midway. She was wearing some silky shorts that showed a lot of curvy toned leg, and her top screamed sexy strength, showing off the creamy skin of shoulders and arms, with a sexy little doll-like image spread across her breasts that winked at him. He swallowed. Her pajamas were a combination of tomboy and tease, and he wanted to pull her warm body back into the bed. She strode over to the bathroom, oblivious to his lusty thoughts.

And he needed to keep it that way. He didn’t want things to change with Vicky. In his line of work, you couldn’t allow anyone too close. It made you vulnerable. He never wanted to be vulnerable. Not like that, not where the person you were with knew your weaknesses, your insecurities, your fears, and used them against you. Memories stirred, and he forcefully shut the door on past hurts, and followed his partner into the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, he started running water in the shower. Vicky put the seat down on the toilet and sat, not bothering to hide her yawn.

“What’s going on? And what time did you get up?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you went for a workout. Why?”