Face of Danger (26 page)

Once again, she spread her arms like imaginary wings, tilted her head all the way back, and closed her eyes.

“Pretty.”

She jumped at the man’s voice like a live wire had prodded her skin, shooting around so fast she cracked her neck.

“You look like you’re praying to the goddess of the ocean.”

She stumbled backward, blood singing in her head at the sight of a big, scary, murderous-looking man. Icy blue eyes sliced her, his stance far more predatory than his tone, his shoulders double the size of hers.

“What do you want?” She backed away, a quick glance toward the dunes on one side, the ocean on the other. She’d never outrun this guy.

“Just walking the beach.” He took a step toward her.

“Leave me alone.” She danced to the left, choosing the
dunes over the water, unable to take her eyes off him. He looked deadly. That was the only word she could think of. A killer. This man had killed—and would again.

The laser-like look, the massive, lethal hands, the vein that throbbed on his neck, the slow rise and fall of his crushing chest, all confirmed that thought.

Deadly.

“Just leave me alone,” she repeated, stumbling like a clumsy idiot in the sand when she tried and failed to make her feet move.

It was like he’d pinned her, and he hadn’t even touched her.

Roman hired only the best to do his dirty work.

“Do you know me?” she asked, her voice as flimsy as her legwork.

“I’d like to.” The hint of a smile only made him… deadlier. “But you don’t seem to be inclined to talk.”

She shook her head. “I’m not. Bye.”

“Wait.” He reached out a hand and she jumped away as if he’d offered a burning sparkler. “Let me give you my card. Maybe when you want to talk, you’ll call me.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t.”

He reached back, into a pocket, the move lifting the bottom of his dark T-shirt.

And revealing a gun.

Holy God in heaven. She sucked in a breath and turned, breaking into a run, bracing her whole body for a bullet in the back.

The deafening crack of a gunshot exploded, and Cara threw herself onto the sand with a scream, waiting for the blinding pain that must take a second to register in the brain. Where was she shot? Where would it hurt?

“Get away from her!”

She looked up to see Marissa standing wide-legged at the top of the dunes, a pistol held in two hands. Terrified, Cara managed to look over her shoulder.

He held up both hands, away from his gun. “No harm meant, ma’am,” he said to Marissa. “You can put your weapon away.”

But she didn’t, raising it instead, her hands remarkably steady. Where had Marissa learned to shoot like that? Cara ducked in anticipation of another shot, but Marissa just held him in her sights as he jogged forward.

He passed Cara; he didn’t even slow, but slid her a look to the side. “If you ever need anything, Cara.” He flipped a card at her and took off as fast as the bullet Marissa had just fired.

For a long minute, she just watched his body as it grew smaller, less threatening.

“Are you okay?” Marissa came running down the dunes, the gun now pointed at an angle in one hand, like a professional.

“I’m fine.” Cara gave her an assuring gesture with both hands. “Thanks for that.”

She looked less fierce close up, more like scared Marissa. “What did he say to you?” she asked. “Who the hell was he?”

Cara picked up the small white card from the sand, but Marissa’s focus was on the runner, who was little more than a figure in the distance now.

“I don’t know.” Cara read the card. Ten digits, no name. “But he gave me his number.”

“Was he trying to pick you up? Did he recognize you?”

Yes, he most certainly had.
If you ever need anything, Cara.

If he worked for Roman, she was as good as dead. And if he was just a guy running the beach who discovered a movie star in hiding? Well, who could resist the chunk of change that information would get with the tabloids?

Either way, her secret was out. She looked at her assistant. “I don’t know,” she lied. “But we may not be as safe here as I thought. I may need to go back to Nantucket.”

“Why?”

To deal with Roman once and for all. “To settle a score,” she said vaguely.

L
et’s go,” Colt said, sliding his phone into his pocket after calling in this latest news to L.A. “I want to get down there before it’s dark.”

Behind him, Vivi jogged to keep up, even though she’d changed into her jeans and “shit kickers.”

Digging-around-for-trouble shoes was what they should be called.

“Is that why you’re running?” she asked. “Because it feels more like you want to keep as much distance as possible between us.”

And that, too. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?”

He ignored the question, snatching the keys from the hook on the garage wall and climbing onto the ATV without waiting for her. But she hoisted herself right up, smashing her breasts and legs against him, wrapping a familiar arm around his gut. The gut that was screaming: Colton Lang, are you a fucking glutton for punishment?

“I thought you might fight me on this, or demand that half the Bureau accompany us to the bog house,” she said as he turned on the engine and maneuvered them out.

“All the agents are at their posts, and this house has been thoroughly searched already. Anyway, you’d just bug me about it all night.”

“All night?” she asked, plenty of implication in the question. “So you’re not sending Special Agent Iverson to babysit me upstairs?”

“Upstairs?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Why did you move?”

“Easier access to Cara’s clothes. And it’s more secure.”

And private. So they could make all kinds of noise. He jammed his thumb on the accelerator and rolled over the brush and bramble, following the tracks they’d made the other day to the bog.

“You know, Lang, I like it when you don’t fight me on things,” she said, her mouth close to his ear so he could hear her over the engine. And feel her warm breath right down through his whole body. Jesus, he might not make it upstairs.

He might break into the bog house at nightfall.

“I only fight you when it’s necessary.” Or when it was going to wreck his head, heart, and life.

But he didn’t know that for sure, right? If she was offering what it felt like she was offering, the best thing Colt could do was take it. One night, maybe two. A few memorable romps, some mind-numbing sex, and he’d get this out of his system and be on his way.

Wouldn’t he?

“You’re going to miss the turn,” she said.

He wrenched the ATV to the right, turning into the path
between the pines to the bog house. Dusk was coming fast, the trees blocking the setting sun almost completely. He parked at the side of the house, able to see the back porch where the entrance to the drainage pipes had been thoroughly examined by the other agents and blocked off with yellow tape.

“They left the front door unlocked,” he said. “Let’s go in that way.”

As they climbed the two steps to the tiny front porch, Vivi stopped and turned to look at the view. “This is exactly what that painting looks like,” she said, a little awe in her voice. “If she really painted that, then the woman has talent. She has
heart
.”

“She doesn’t seem like she has enough heart to fill in a coloring book,” Colt said, opening the door. “And for all we know, she could be sending us on a wild goose chase or worse.”

“Worse?”

“The house’ll blow up while we’re in it.”

Vivi froze with a gasp. “You think?”

“No, but keep the door open in case we have to run.”

After he did a thorough check of the tiny house, they went directly to the fireplace and started looking. It had been searched by the agents, but not cleaned out, so they might have missed whatever this key fit. If the key fit anything in the fireplace.

He felt around the mantel, but Vivi stepped right into the hole and looked up to the chimney, coughing a little.

“Can you lift me?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Looks like there’s something blocking the chimney, like a false wall. Maybe it locks. You’ll need to hold me up while I check it out.”

“I’ll go up there,” he said.

“Your shoulders won’t fit, stud.” She ducked out, a few soot marks on her cheeks. He brushed at one.

“You’re dirty already.”

“It’s a fireplace. Dirt is expected.”

“It’s cute.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, you haven’t called me cute since I donned the Cara clothes.”

“Only because I don’t want to make you mad.”

She grinned as they dragged the iron grate out of the way. “You live to make me mad.”

He wanted to kiss her. Right then and there, halfway in a fireplace, with dirt on her face and trouble in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her so much it actually hurt.

“Kneel down,” she said. “I’ll get on your shoulders.”

For a moment he didn’t move. He just stared at her smudged, cute face. He adored that face. It made his heart do stupid things. It used to just make his dick go off the deep end, but now—it was more than that.

God
damn
it all.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “All right, Lang, just let me have it.”

“Have what?” Because if she gave him the go-ahead, he would. Right now, right here, all night.

“I can tell you’re about to fight me on this again. I can always tell when you have that look in your eyes. You’re lining up an argument. What about this don’t you like, exactly?”

Nothing. He liked nothing about this. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

She gave him a shove into the fireplace and onto his knees. “Then hold on to me and don’t let me fall.”

“All right.” Someone was going to fall, though. And he had a feeling it was going to be him.

He cradled his hands and helped her climb up, her knees braced against his shoulders, one of her hands flattened against the chimney wall to stay steady. With the other, she reached up and started feeling around the metal panel that closed off the chimney.

“It doesn’t move.”

“Push harder—they usually release with some pressure.”

She grunted, her weight pressing on him as she used all the force she had. “Nope. Let me see if I can find a—got it! Keyhole.” She stabbed into her jeans pocket and produced the key, then stretched to unlock and release the panel.

“How are you going to get up there?”

“On your shoulders.”

“That’s what I thought you might say.” He maneuvered her legs and she stepped up to his shoulders, her head popping through the hole.

“It’s a way into the rafters,” she said between coughs. “Disgusting, dark, abandoned and no doubt full of rat shit.”

“We can get someone up there tomorrow.”

“Like hell you can.” She grabbed hold of something and her weight lightened on his shoulders. “This is what the Guardian Angelinos do, dude.”

He laughed a little, his whole being warmed just by
her
. Her voice, her style, her reckless determination. He’d never met anyone like her.
Anyone
. This went past mourning for a woman he’d lost.

This was wanting a woman he might never have.

As she hoisted herself up, her weight disappeared from
his shoulders. But something else pressed so heavily on him, he could hardly breathe.

“Long rolls of paper,” she announced, her voice muffled as she got deeper into the attic. “Looks like blueprints. Probably for the remodeling Joellen talked Cara out of because of nutcase mother. Just a wild guess.”

Two tubes came tumbling down to his feet.

“There’s something else up here. Hang on.” Her feet disappeared from view as she went farther.

“Be careful,” he said.

No answer.

“Vivi?”

Still no answer. “Vivi!”

“Relax, Lang.” She stuck her head through the opening, her words nearly lost in the rush of relief in his head. “I found something.”

“What?”

“A dead guy.”

Vivi shined the light of her phone on the skeleton, yellow white, and perfect in his form. This dude had clearly been dead awhile. There was not a remnant of skin or hair, only some tattered rags that might have once been clothes.

“Get the hell down here!” Lang ordered, all kinds of panic in his voice.

“I’m coming, believe me.” She scrambled to the edge, took one more look at Bones, then let her legs drop back into the lower half of the chimney. Her feet hit Lang’s shoulders and he eased her down and they both crawled out of the fireplace into the air.

She was shaking a little when he grabbed her and pulled her closer. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, but…” Was Lang shaking, too? Something had him unnerved. “I saw the remains, not you.”

“Let’s go. We’ll get CSI in here tomorrow morning. I have to call in—”

“No, wait.” The words were out before she really thought about why. “Let’s talk to Mercedes first.”

“Oh, we’ll talk to Mercedes. She practically led us here.” He was already pulling her toward the open door, carrying the blueprints she’d found in one hand. “She knows way more than she’s saying and I’m taking her in, whether it freaks her out to step into the open air or not.”

Something unsettled inside her. Something about Mercedes.

If you have a heart, you’ll leave this be.

“Why would she hide this?” Vivi said.

“Because she had something to do with it. Because he was murdered. Because her daughter—who she doesn’t admit is her daughter—is a famous movie star who also, I might add just for color, has some connection to a guy at the helm of a human trafficking ring.” He finally took a breath and got her out the door. “That could just be a dead Laotian farm worker up there. We’ll talk to her in an official capacity. And then we’ll put her ass in jail.”

“Let me talk to her, Lang.”

“You did your bit as the Guardian Angelino. I’ll talk to her in an official, on-the-record FBI interview.”

She didn’t argue, choosing instead to climb onto the ATV and hold him as he took them through the darkening night light, back to the house.

She’d just come face-to-face with a dead body and yet what troubled her most was Mercedes. Was this what had
turned her into an agoraphobic? Vivi had to find out, and she knew she could, if Lang didn’t interfere.