Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel (18 page)

“Now that’s about the most overwhelming display of arrogance I’ve ever been privileged to witness,” she muttered.

Although it took an effort, Nate remained outwardly unperturbed. Inwardly he was rapidly reaching the end of his rope. She’d given him the silent treatment most of the way from the hospital, only to occasionally bitch about being able to take care of herself just fine, thank you very much.

From the moment she’d left Donovan’s room, Nate had gotten the very strong impression that she wouldn’t have even left the building with him if she hadn’t been concerned about upsetting her father.

“Anyone who would resort to threatening a woman by phone isn’t much of a man. He’ll back down if he thinks he’s going to run into any real opposition.”

Tess hated him for being logical when she was not. “I don’t have an extra toothbrush.”

“Not a problem. My bag’s in the car.” At her sharp look, he lifted his hands in a gesture of self-defense. “Hey, I was on my way home from the airport, remember?”

Objection overruled. Again.

“Did I mention while this may be a two-bedroom townhouse, I’m using the second as my office? Which means I don’t have a guest room.”

“No problem. I’ll rack out on the couch.”

“It’s probably too short.”

He shrugged. “I’ve slept in a lot worse places.”

Thus reminding her of his Marine deployments. And, dammit, her appreciation for all those who put their lives on the line for her freedom. As much as she was irritated at being stuck with a babysitter, it wasn’t his fault that some Russian mobster might possibly be out to get her.

“I’ll get you the linens.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“You’re a guest.”

“If it makes you feel any better to think of me being here that way, fine.”

She blew out a breath. Raked her hands through her hair, which she figured was probably looking like a bush atop her head about now. “I don’t mean to sound inhospitable. But all this is difficult.”

“I can understand that. I can also understand how you’d feel as if me being here somehow takes away from your ability to handle events in your own life.”

“It does,” she admitted.

“I was a Marine scout sniper, which meant that I usually worked ahead of the team,” he said conversationally. “But the key word was always
team
. The other guys trusted me to check for bad guys. The same way I trusted them to have my back. Marines are independent types by nature, which is why we choose the Corps in the first place. But we all knew that none of us would have survived very long on our own.”

So now he was calling them a team? As much as she couldn’t have imagined such a thing even a few days ago, she got his meaning. Loud and clear.

“I’ll get the sheets, a pillow, and a blanket. When you come back in with your suitcase, go ahead and lock up. Because it’s been a long day and I’m going to bed.”

As she left the room, despite that the circumstances for his spending the night weren’t what he would have preferred, Nate nevertheless experienced a surge of satisfaction.

“I still don’t know what the hell you’re up to, Captain,” he said under his breath, “but I’ll have to admit, you’ve definitely piqued my interest.”

*     *     *

As exhausted as she was, Tess found sleep a difficult target. It was impossible to relax knowing that Nate was downstairs, sleeping on the red leather sofa she’d saved for three months to buy. It wasn’t that she was afraid that he’d have to leap up and put himself between some would-be killer and her. He wasn’t a Secret Service agent, after all. He hadn’t volunteered to take a bullet for her.

Yet, she allowed, if it came down to it, he’d probably do exactly that. Not that she expected the situation to come up, she reassured herself yet again.

What was keeping her tossing and turning was picturing Nate Breslin’s body, which was surprisingly tan for an Oregonian, sprawled on her crisp white sheets.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in the nude at home. But surely he wouldn’t do that here. Not only would it prove embarrassing if she, say, went downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night, she doubted any male would want to risk getting in a physical fight naked.

So…

Boxers?

Or briefs?

The question, and the erotic images it inspired, did nothing to encourage sleep.

“Nate Breslin seems like a nice enough man,” Eleanor said as Mike drove her home.

“He doesn’t have a record, and the people Jake talked to in Shelter Bay only had positive things to say about him.”

“You had him investigated?”

“As soon as Jake ran his plates. I
am
an investigator,” he reminded her. “That’s what I do.”

When she folded her arms, he felt a chill come over the inside of the car. “Can I expect to have you look into my life?”

“Of course not. Unless,” he tacked on after a moment’s pause, “you started getting threatening calls or someone tried to hurt you. Then I’d be on the case like white on rice.”

“Because that’s what you do.”

“No. Because I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

“Cops have good instincts. And you have dynamite legs.”

He liked that she laughed. “I like you, too. And not because you have great guns.”

“You’re not talking about my service Glock.”

“No.” She reached out and curled her fingers around his upper arm. “I’m talking about the fact that you obviously keep in good shape.”

“I work out some.”

Despite what the TV shows and movies suggested, cops and detectives spent more time sitting on their asses than they did chasing bad guys. Not wanting to look like a stereotypical Dunkin’ Donuts cop, he’d always passed his annual physical with flying colors.

“I do, too. But, while I endure the stairstepper and treadmill, I much prefer yoga.”

Mike knew he was in deep, deep trouble when an image of Eleanor in those clingy workout clothes women wore doing a downward dog or whatever those twisty movements were made him as instantly hard as he’d been at sixteen.

Which, in turn, had him grateful for two things: that it was dark in the car, and he wouldn’t be needing blue pills if she decided one day to take their relationship to the next level.

“Getting back to your daughter and the novelist, I doubt she’d be happy to know you’ve been checking up on her.”

“She’d be pissed,” Mike allowed. “But she’d get over it. Because she knows I love her and want to protect her.” Which, dammit, he hadn’t always been able to do. And didn’t memories of that time still feel like a stone in the gut?

“Do you always investigate men she’s involved with?”

“No.” If he had, he would’ve realized she’d married one of those cops who crossed the line when it came to control issues. “Just the ones who threaten her.”

The slight hint of disapproval he’d heard in her tone turned to surprise. “I have a hard time imagining that young man threatening anyone.”

“He’s a Marine,” Mike pointed out. “Who’s done multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Which means he’s tougher than he looks, and could also have PTSD issues. And technically, he didn’t exactly threaten her. He just grabbed hold of her arm.” From what Jake had told him, her jacket, but that was close enough to put the guy smack in the middle of Mike’s sights.

“Which would have been enough to trigger possible PTSD issues of her own,” Eleanor murmured.

He shot her a look. “Now who’s the investigator?”

“You’re an investigator. I’m a volunteer researcher. Though, in some respects, I suppose there’s not a lot of difference,” she said mildly. “I Googled both of you while you were off having coffee. The kidnapping must have been a horrible time for you.”

“It wasn’t a cakewalk.” He brushed it off as he tended to do whenever the topic came up, then decided, for some reason he’d think about later, to come clean. “It was hell.” He decided this was too early to mention how it had also caused a slow, painful death to his marriage.

“Worse because you weren’t only her father but a detective. One who had a reputation for closing more cases, and more quickly, than anyone else on the force.”

“You’re not only thorough, you’re quick.” He and Tess hadn’t been in the cafe that long.

“Not always.” Despite the serious turn the conversation had taken, she gave him an up-through-the-lashes look. “Quick can be a good thing. But there are also times I prefer things slow.”

The pheromones were bouncing around like metal balls in a pinball machine inside the car as he pulled into her driveway. Suggesting that sometimes fate was generous, she’d taken advantage of Portland’s public transportation system to get to work this morning, so they hadn’t had to deal with two cars.

Her eyes, gleaming in the dashboard lights, were like emerald pools. As he felt himself drowning in them, Mike didn’t have a single desire to be rescued.

“You’re not talking about Googling or investigations anymore, are you?”

“I can see why you were awarded all those citations,” she said on a purr. “Because you’ve definitely caught me, detective.”

The hand that had checked out his biceps splayed across his chest. “You know what they say about life being too short. Fortunately, nights can be long.”

As she led him by the hand into the house, and without a bit of social foreplay, like drinks or chit-chat, up the stairs to her bedroom, Mike decided that she only had that half right. Because the way he saw it, they’d caught each other.

Sometime in the early morning, Tess heard the water running in the downstairs bathroom and realized Nate was taking a shower. And wasn’t that thought enough to trigger a flash of hormonal lust?

By the time she got through her own shower, dried her hair with the diffuser, and got dressed, the rich aroma of coffee was drifting up the stairs. Apparently he’d not merely invaded her life but her kitchen, as well.

In the cold light of day Tess wondered why on earth she had allowed Nate to stay in the first place. After all, her house was well secured—there were locks on all the windows and double bolts on both the doors. Her caller wouldn’t have been able to get in even if he wanted to.

For the sake of argument, Tess chose to ignore the fact that no lock would be able to keep out an individual determined to gain entrance. She preferred to concentrate on all the reasons she was going to throw Nate Breslin out of her house the minute she went downstairs.

Work. That’s how she was going to spend her day. Preparing for the Vasilyev hearing and Schiff trial.

As she went through the living room, she noticed that he’d folded his sheets and blanket and put them on the end of the couch with the pillow squarely on top. Wondering if he’d learned that at Marine boot camp, she continued into the kitchen, only to find that he wasn’t alone.

“What are you doing out of the hospital?” she asked Donovan.

“Strategizing,” he said easily. He was sitting on the barstool, crutches beside him. The hand that wasn’t wrapped in fresh white gauze lifted a mug in greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

“I can’t believe they let you out so soon.” A thought occurred to her. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“No, although legally I could have, since my left leg has the fracture, I hitched a ride from a patrol cop. As for getting out this morning, there wasn’t any reason to keep me. If they hadn’t been afraid of swelling from the concussion, they would’ve sprung me from the ER as soon as the doctor put the cast on my leg.”

“You should at least be home. In bed.”

There was a sudden suggestive glint in his eyes that told her he’d immediately thought of a too-easy, snappy comeback to that, but, with the Marine standing on the other side of the island, thankfully kept it to himself.

“Why don’t you have some coffee?” Nate entered into the conversation, holding out another mug toward her. “Before you pack.”

“Pack?”

Donovan looked as surprised as Tess was. “You haven’t told her?”

“Told me what?”

Nate didn’t immediately respond, first directing his answer to the detective. “I’d planned to fill her in on it when she came down for breakfast.”

“
She
just happens to be right here in the kitchen.” Tess positioned herself between the two men. “Fill me in on what?”

“Maybe you’d better tell her,” Nate said to Donovan. “She seems to take orders better from you.”

“I don’t take orders from anyone!”

“I don’t know.” Donovan eyed Tess as if she were a powder keg about to explode. “I’ve never seen her so close to losing her temper before.”

“It’s probably just the stress,” Nate suggested.

“Perhaps,” Donovan allowed.

“If one of you doesn’t tell me what you have up your sleeves right now, you’re going to see an explosion that will make Mount St. Helens’ eruption seem tame by com-parison,” Tess warned.

“See what I mean?” Donovan said to Nate. “Okay, okay,” he said, turning back to Tess. “You’re going to spend the next ten days at Shelter Bay.”

“I’m what?”

“Just until the Russian mobster’s hearing,” Nate added.

Tess threw herself defiantly onto a barstool. And took a long drink of coffee, which, dammit, was better than she made.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “As for you, Donovan Quinn, how could you have forgotten that the Schiff trial starts Monday? You investigated that case. You’re due to testify.”

“You’ve gotten a continuance from Judge Lawson,” the detective said with a reassuring smile. “So, you see, there’s nothing to stop you from going to the coast with Breslin.”

“Except for the small fact that I don’t remember asking for a continuance.”

“Tom got it this morning. After I told him about your latest phone call. And the slashed tire.”

“Tom? As in Thomas Barnes? My boss?” The fact that the district attorney would pull rank on her, going behind her back to get a continuance on a case she had slaved on for months, was even more irritating than their plan to hide her out in Shelter Bay.

“Someone had to. And I had a hunch you would have refused to request the time.”