Stranger in my Arms (4 page)

“See? I told you I know nothing about art. How about giving me a crash course in art history?”

She felt him come closer when actually he hadn't moved. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. Merrick Grayslake spoke of friendship when everything in his gaze communicated the opposite.

“Not in three weeks.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Lids lowering over his penetrating eyes, Merrick stared at her lushly curved full lips. “I'm a quick study.”

A tangible energy radiated from Merrick that drew Alex to him like a powerful magnet. He was maddeningly arrogant, but there was also something so soothing in his manner that she found herself unable to resist him.

It had been a long time since she'd been involved with a man, but that still did not explain why she'd felt as if her emotions were under attack; and she could not fathom what it was about the man a mere breath away who shattered her resolve to concentrate solely on her studies. She had three weeks, time in which she planned to visit with her parents and siblings before she returned to Virginia to close up her condo.

“Can you take a couple of weeks off from your job?”

Merrick was hard-pressed not to smile. “Yes. What do you have in mind?” He wanted to tell Alex that he didn't have a job or a career, and hadn't had one in two years. He had a government pension, albeit as a disability status, and the proceeds from shrewd investments permitted him a comfortable and uncomplicated lifestyle.

“I need you to come to D.C. Will that present a problem for you?”

“Not in the least. I live in West Virginia.”

“Where do you live in West Virginia?” Excitement fired the gold in her clear brown eyes.

“Bolivar. It's a few miles south of Harper's Ferry.”

“We're practically neighbors. I live in Arlington, Virginia.”

They weren't neighbors, but it was close enough for Merrick to get to the Capitol District in a few hours. “How long have you lived in Virginia?”

“This coming March will be two years. I'm going to visit with my folks in Boca Raton for a week before I go back to D.C.”

“When do you want to get together?”

“I should be back on the eighth. I have tickets for a showing that's also a fund-raiser on the ninth.”

“That sounds good. I'm going to need a number where I can reach you so you can give me all the particulars.”

“I'll give you my cell number. Do you have anything to write it down with?”

Merrick shook his head. “Tell it to me.”

Resting a hand on one hip, Alex glared at him. “If you forget it, then don't blame me if we don't get together.”

“I won't forget it. And if I do I'll call Michael and ask him.”

Alex had her answer as to whose guest he was. And if he knew Michael, then there was no doubt Merrick Grayslake was either involved in the military or had ties to intelligence.

She recited her number, watching Merrick as he closed his eyes and mouthed the numbers. “Tickets to this event are as scarce as hen's teeth, so if I get one for you and you don't contact me, then there's going to be hell to pay, Merrick Grayslake.”

His right hand moved up to caress the nape of her neck. Pressing his mouth to her ear, he repeated her number before reciting it backward. “Are you satisfied, Miss Alexandra Cole?”

Grinning, her mouth inches from his, she crooned, “I'm impressed.”

Alex's soft, moist lips were a temptation, but Merrick knew she would never trust him if he suddenly took advantage of the situation and kissed her. He'd promised friendship, and that was what they would share until she decided otherwise.

“The score is now two for Grayslake, zero for Cole.”

Vertical lines appeared between her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Merrick's smile was toothpaste-ad dazzling white. “I earned a point when I rescued you from your annoying
stalker boyfriend,
and I just proved to you that I won't forget your number.”

Pulling back and resting both hands on her hips in a challenging gesture, Alex narrowed her eyes.
“Oh-kay,”
she drawled. “You want this to be a competition? Bring it on, sport, because you're in for the fight of your life.”

He sobered quickly. “Damn. You're a spunky little thing, aren't you?”

“Don't let my size fool you.”

“One thing I'm not is a fool. I know enough not to mess over a Cole woman.”

Her frown deepened. “How much do you know about my family?”

The seconds ticked off as they regarded each other like combatants. “A lot more than the average citizen,” he replied cryptically.

A wave of apprehension swept through Alex, washing away her former bravado. “Who are you, Merrick? And what do you do?”

His impassive expression reminded her of a mask of stone. “I'm retired.”

“Who did you work for?” Her normally sultry voice had dropped an octave.

There came another pause. “That's something you don't need to know.”

Alex emitted an unladylike snort. “You want us to become friends, yet you don't trust me enough to tell me who you work for.” She stood up, Merrick following suit. “Well, I just evened the score, Merrick. You don't have to tell me. Once Michael returns from his honeymoon I'll ask him.”

Merrick knew when he was bested. He didn't want Michael to know that he was seeing his cousin—not yet. “CIA,” he said reluctantly.

Her mouth formed a perfect O with his disclosure. “You were with the Central Intelligence Agency?” He nodded. “Intelligence?” Merrick nodded again. She squinted up at him. “I see why you and Michael are friends.” Her cousin, a West Point graduate, was a highly-trained army intelligence officer.

Merrick extended his free hand. “Are you ready to dance with me?”

Grasping his hand, Alex smiled up at him. “Yes.”

Holding hands, they retraced their steps to where couples were swaying to the band playing Stevie Wonder's “You and I.” Merrick wrapped his arm around Alex's waist, holding her close to his heart, and closed his eyes as she curved her arms under his shoulders. There was no need to concentrate on his footwork as they sank into each other's warmth, as if dancing together was something they'd done before. Before the last note faded, the DJ segued into the old-school ballad, P.M. Dawn's “I'd Die Without You.”

Resting her cheek on her dance partner's shoulder, Alex closed her eyes and sang the words of the passionate love song. She lost herself in the strong arms, the sensual scent of his cologne and temporarily forgot her promise not to entertain notions of a romantic nature until she completed her education.

Going completely pliant in Merrick's embrace, she thought of a time when she'd lost her heart to a man who was undeserving of her love and trust. The song ended and they pulled apart.

Lowering his head, Merrick pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for the dance.”

Easing out of his loose embrace, she gave him a dimpled smile. “Thank you for asking.”

His gray eyes boring into her, Merrick inclined his head. “Good night, Ali.”

Her arching raven eyebrows lifted. “Good night and Happy New Year.”

Without another word, he turned and walked off the dance floor, leaving her staring at his broad shoulders until he blended into the crowd. She was in the same position when Jason reached for her hand.

“Come dance with me.” He steered her to the middle of the dance floor as hip-hop blared from the powerful sound system. Raising her arms above her head, she snapped her fingers and lost herself in the driving rhythm of the infectious baseline beat. Her older brother, Gabriel, cut in, then Diego. After a while she lost count of the number of men she danced with as the hands on the clock made several revolutions. It was after four in the morning when she finally took off her shoes, walked across the carpet of grass and into the house that her grandfather had built for his wife before the Great Depression.

The twenty-four-room mansion designed in a Spanish revival style with barrel-tiled red roofs, a stucco facade and balconies shrouded in lush bougainvillea and sweeping French doors that opened onto broad expanses of terraces with spectacular water views was still one of the finest homes in West Palm Beach. The magnificent structure, set on twelve acres, was surrounded by tropical foliage, exotic gardens and the reflection of light off sparkling lake waters.

Alex always looked forward to coming to West Palm Beach for the week spanning Christmas and New Year's because it gave her the opportunity to reunite with her extended family and reconnect with her grandmother who'd celebrated her one hundred and third birthday December twenty-seventh.

She had the bedroom suite to herself, which meant she could linger in the shower. After cleansing the makeup from her face and brushing her teeth, she stepped into the shower stall.

Her eyelids were drooping when she pulled a nightgown over her head and slipped into one of the two queen-size beds. Alex was asleep within seconds of her head touching a down-filled pillow.

M
errick checked out of his hotel, retrieved his truck from the parking lot and headed south. It was New Year's Day, the weekend, and he practically had I–95 to himself. An overcast sky had given way to bright sunlight, and when he entered downtown Miami the energy, passion, color and architectural treasures of the tropical city elicited a feeling of nostalgia. What was it, he asked himself, about Miami that made him feel as if he'd come home?

Slowing the SUV, he'd become the sightseer and tourist, driving past the harbor crowded with massive cruise ships and priceless pleasure boats. His sightseeing ended when he checked into a Miami Beach hotel. The view from his nineteenth-floor suite was spectacular. Opening the door to an armoire, he switched on the large-screen television to CNN. He'd planned to spend his time in Miami relaxing and soaking up the flavor of the city. Pulling a T-shirt over his head, he made his way in the direction of the bathroom.

After moving to Bolivar he'd discovered that he lost track of the days of the week; but that would change because of Alexandra Cole. Eight days—in another eight days he would call her to arrange a time when they would see each other again.

Stepping out of his jeans and underwear, Merrick recalled his interaction with Alex. He'd found her outspoken, opinionated and brutally honest, personality traits he hadn't encountered in any of the women in his past. She was a challenge, one he welcomed. Alex had promised him two weeks and he intended to make the most of their time together.

 

Merrick walked into a restaurant on Calle Ocho, Miami's Little Havana main thoroughfare. He took off a well-worn baseball cap and seated himself at a small table in the rear of the dining establishment. The mouthwatering aromas wafting from platters of food carried by the serving staff overwhelmed him. He'd opted not to order from the hotel kitchen because it'd been months since he'd eaten Caribbean cuisine.

Two months before, he'd become a lookout for Michael when he'd asked him to watch the building housing the Sanctuary Counseling Center. He'd set himself up in a vacant apartment across the street, bribing the building's superintendent to let him use the space under the pretense that he was a private detective hired by a foreign diplomat to watch his wife who'd abducted the two children the judge had placed in his custody. The greedy man barely glanced at his fake identification, accepting the one-hundred-dollar-a-day fee while offering to bring him lunch and dinner. The superintendent's wife was from the Dominican Republic, and Merrick spent three glorious days eating white rice, red beans, fried plantains, baked chicken and spaghetti with spareribs.

Picking up a plastic-covered menu, he studied the selections printed in English and Spanish. An attractive young waitress approached his table. “Are you ready to order?” she asked in accented English.

“Miro todavía,”
he said.
“Pero le agradecería una cerveza fría.”

The waitress's professionally arched eyebrows shot up. Not only was the gray-eyed man
guapo,
but he also spoke Spanish.

“Seguro.”
She flashed a sultry grin before walking away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. She took a bottle of beer from a freezer case, whispering to her girlfriend to take a look at the man in the light blue shirt seated in her section.

“
El es guapo!
But don't let Jorge see you flirting with him, Milagros,” the other woman warned in English. “The two of you are practically engaged.”

“
Almost
engaged, but not blind,” Milagros whispered, winking at her best friend. She returned to her customer, placing the bottle of beer and a chilled glass on the table. She was the epitome of professionalism when she jotted down Merrick's order of black beans, white rice, baked chicken and an avocado salad.

 

Merrick lingered at the restaurant, eating, reading a Spanish-language newspaper and viewing a Spanish-language television station. It was as if he wanted to immerse himself in a language he'd learned from the Mexican housekeepers in the employ of his foster parents.

The foster parents were all cut from the same fabric: Godfearing folks who felt an obligation to take care of the less fortunate. They never stopped to think that the money they received from the state for their charges helped pay for luxury cars, state-of-the-art electronic equipment, expanding their already sprawling homes and vacationing in exotic getaways.

Forcing himself not to think of his troubled childhood, he paid the check, leaving a generous tip, and walked out of the restaurant. He put on his favorite New York Yankees cap, successfully concealing his dark auburn hair, and set off on foot to tour the area. He stopped at the Brigade 2506 Memorial that commemorated the exiled victims of the unsuccessful 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba. The sun had set by the time he returned to pick up his vehicle and check back into his hotel room.

Unaccustomed to the heavy food and the winter heat he lay down on the bed in the air-conditioned room. Within seconds of closing his eyes, the face of Alex flooded his mind. Cursing under his breath, he sat up and reached for his cell phone on the nightstand. The only way he was going to exorcise her was to talk to her.

Merrick dialed her number as if it was something he did on a regular basis. It rang three times before he heard her greeting.

A smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. “I told you I wouldn't forget.”

Her sultry laugh came through the tiny earpiece. “You're really full of yourself, aren't you? Are you trying to prove to me how smart you are, Mr. Former CIA Man?”

A bright smile spread over his face. “No and no. Right now I'm full of
arroz frijoles, pollo y aguacate
.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Sí, que tú hablas Español, también?”

“Yes. Both my parents speak the language. Who taught you?”

There was a pause before Merrick said, “That's a long story.”

“I have all night, Merrick.”

“All night for what, Ali?”

“To listen to you tell me about yourself.”

“Why don't you wait until we see each other again?”

“Where are you?”

“I'm in Miami.”

“That's one of my favorite cities. The architecture is spectacular.”

“It is very colorful.” Merrick wanted to tell Alex that she was spectacular but didn't want to come on too strong. “Now that I know you didn't give me the wrong number, I'll let you go.”

“The wrong number!” she repeated. “If I hadn't wanted to give you my number, then we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

He chuckled softly. “So, you do want to be my friend.”

“Isn't that why I gave you my number?”

“No, Ali. You gave me your number because you promised to tutor me in art history.”

“It's going to have to be an accelerated course.”

“I told you before that I'm a quick study.” What Merrick hadn't told Alex was that he had a photographic memory. He'd become known in the Marine Corps as “Lock and Load” because if he saw something or someone once, he was able to file the information away in his mind and recall it at will. This gift had served him well once he was recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency.

“I'm going to grade you.”

“What can I expect if I get straight As?”

Alex laughed again. “I'll be certain to come up with something comparable to your final grade. How long are you going to be in Miami?”

“I plan to spend another day here. Then I'm heading down to the Keys.”

“I've lived in Florida all my life yet I've never been to the Keys.”

“Do you want to join me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't know you like
that
.”

“Like what, Ali? Do you think I'd try to compromise you?”

“No. Of course not,” she said much too quickly. “Maybe the next time I'll take you up on your offer.”

“I'm going to hold you to that promise.”

“I always keep my promises, Merrick.”

“Good for you.” He heard a signal that indicated Alex had another caller.

“Hold on, I have another call coming through.” There was a momentary pause before she came back on the line. “I'm going to have to ring off now. I'll talk to you again on the eighth.”

“Okay. Stay well and stay out of trouble.” Her bubbly laughter floated into his ear. “Don't make me have to come to your rescue again,” he teased.

“It's kind of nice having a personal knight in shining armor.”

“I hate to tell you, but my armor's rusted and dented beyond repair.”

“That doesn't matter. I'll still keep you, Sir Grayslake.”

Merrick knew he had to end the call before he said something that would sabotage his fragile yet promising relationship with Alexandra Cole. “I'll call you on the eighth.”

“Ciao, amigo,”
she said cheerfully.

“
Hasta luego,
Ali.”

Merrick pressed a button, ending the connection. He was glad he'd called her. Hearing her voice and bubbly laugh was a reminder of what he could look forward to once he returned to West Virginia.

 

Merrick finally found Rachel Singletary's house without mishap. His vehicle's navigational system had never failed him. He turned down a narrow street that made up Key West. He found a parking spot in what he termed an alley, and walked the short distance to a one-story stucco structure painted a soft salmon pink and fronted by a wrought-iron fence protecting a flower garden overflowing with frangipani and bougainvillea.

Reaching over, he unlatched the gate at the same time the front door opened. Rachel stood in the doorway, an automatic handgun pressed to her jeans-covered thigh.

Merrick held up both hands. “I come in peace.”

The network of tiny lines around the woman's dark eyes deepened when she recognized the tall man standing outside the gate. “Merrick! How the hell are you?”

He gestured to the firearm. “I'd be a lot better if you put that thing away.”

Rachel waved him in. “It's all for show.”

Merrick opened the gate as Rachel came forward to meet him. Looping an arm around her waist, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You look good, Rusty,” he said, using her nickname.

“Not as good as you, Gray. To what do I owe the honor of you gracing me with your presence?” Rachel asked as she tucked the firearm into the waistband of her jeans under an oversize man-tailored shirt.

“I did promise to come and visit.”

“That was two years ago.” She moved aside as Merrick stepped into an expansive entryway.

“Better late than never,” he quipped.

She closed and locked the front door. “Go onto the back porch where it's cooler.”

He made his way through a living room filled with rattan pieces covered with colorful plush pillows and cushions in keeping with the tropical locale. A profusion of potted plants and palms brought the outdoors inside.

He stood on an enclosed porch, staring through the screen at the ocean. The view was awesome, humbling and peaceful. Living in a landlocked state definitely had its disadvantages. A low table held a television, a radio and a stack of recent best-selling books. It was obvious Rachel spent most of her time at the rear of her house.

“Sit down, Merrick.”

He folded his length down to a cushioned love seat while Rachel sat on a chaise; he turned to stare at the middle-aged woman who at one time had been his supervisor in Langley, Virginia.

Twenty-five years his senior, she'd become his older sister, counselor and confidante. Tall and sturdily built, with even features, she'd teased him, saying they probably were related because both had red hair. The years had darkened the bright orange strands and added a liberal sprinkling of gray while the Florida sun had tanned her face wherein the liberal sprinkling of freckles blended with the added color.

Leaning to her right, she opened the door to a portable refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer. She offered one to Merrick. “I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger.”

He waved a hand. “No, thank you.”

“Don't tell me you've gone soft, Grayslake.”

“A little,” he admitted. “Being away from the action can do that.”

Rachel twisted the cap off the bottle, put it to her mouth and took a long swallow. “You still could've been in the action if you hadn't cut and run like a candy-ass.”

Merrick closed his eyes, shutting out the awesome sight of the sun setting over the ocean. “I didn't join the Company to sit behind a desk.”