With Deadly Intent (30 page)

His presence made the kitchen seem too small. “No,” she managed to squeak. “I had a late
breakfast.” She took in a gulp of air. “Maybe, you should rest a bit before lunch.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Perhaps.” He started pulling out drawers. “First I'm
going to take a real shower.” He found a plastic bag that'd fit over his cast. “They
tell me if I'll keep the damned thing dry, it won't smell so rank.”

She nodded. “I suspect they're right.” She accompanied him into the living room. “Call me
when ... when you get in bed.” She steadied her voice. “I'll come put some drops in your
eyes.”

He stiffened. “Don't push it, Amy.”

“Cam said...” she began.

“I don't give a bloody damn what he said.” He stalked into the bedroom.

She sighed. If she got through three days of this, it'd be a miracle. She hung her coat
in the closet and put her holstered gun on the shelf above. She sat down and leafed
through magazines without absorbing a word.

Twenty minutes later, when he shouted he was ready, her insides started to quiver. She
retrieved the bottle of eye drops from the kitchen and walked down the hall.

Be brisk and efficient, she told herself—complete the task and get out. That was the only
way to handle a volatile situation like this.

His bedroom had been redone in burnished gold, green, and cinnamon. She remembered the
night she'd seen it last. The black satin spread strewn with pictures of Simon's dead
wife and in each snapshot Julie's head had been torn off. She shuddered and stepped
inside.

Simon lay in a king-size brass bed with the blanket pulled up to his middle. She kept her
head slightly averted until she sat down on the edge of the mattress. Then, her gaze
started at his naval and traveled upward, stopping where auburn hair curled damply on
his broad chest.

Such a beautiful body. Her stomach swooped. Did he always sleep in the buff?

She swallowed into a dry throat, filled the dropper, and leaned toward him, then drew
back in surprise. Desire smoldered in his eyes, softening the lines of his face, and
bringing a tantalizing fullness to his lips.

The air became too thin for her to fill her lungs. Why was he doing this? He went back
and forth like a yo-yo. She mustn't be attracted by his sensuality. She had to have more
than that.

She glanced away and when she looked again, the coldness had returned. Why, oh why, did
he insist on everything being on his terms?

He reached above his head and grasped a brass support in the bedstead. “Hold still,” she
said. Her hand shook as the filled dropper neared him and some of the medication fell on
his cheek. “Sorry.” She snatched a tissue from a box on his night stand to blot the
liquid. Her fingers brushed his skin and her heart felt as if it might leap from her
chest. She'd never get through these next few days ... never.

His grip tightened on the brass rod and he squinched his eyes tight shut. “Get it over
with. I can't stand someone messing with my eyes.”

She eased a drop into the corner of each eye, recapped the bottle and started to rise. He
grabbed her arm. “You could have told me you and Nguyen were lovers. You didn't have to
go on letting me think we could—”

She wrenched loose and sprang to her feet. “Lovers! We're not lovers. He's a friend. A
good friend. So is his wife.”

Simon jerked himself upright. “Don't lie to me. I saw the two of you together.”

She backed away from his anger. “You'd like that wouldn't you? Then you'd have an excuse.
That's what you're really looking for, isn't it? Some reason to convince yourself I'm
not worth the bother.” She started out of the room, then turned on her heel and came
back. “You don't know what you want, do you?”

“Not know!” He bounded out of bed.

The air whooshed out of her lungs. He wore only a bikini brief. She couldn't help but
notice how brief it was.

He grabbed her shoulders. “I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't work.” He shook her. “I
can't do one single damned thing except think of you.” His mouth came down on hers in a
hard kiss.

When he drew away, she lay her palm against his cheek. “I didn't mean to cause you pain.”
She stroked the back of his neck until he took a great gulping breath that shook his
whole body.

He put his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her hair. “You're sweet and patient
and ... and wonderful. How could you possibly care about me?”

She smiled up at him. “Male porcupines attract female porcupines.”

“Oh, Amy.” He kissed her eyes, cheeks, throat, and finally her lips. His passionate
caresses melted her constraint and soon neither of them could bear for their lips to be
separated for even an instant.

He got her blouse and skirt off without too much difficulty. But when he started on her
panty hose, he and Amy became entangled and tumbled onto the carpet. Struck by their
ludicrous position, she began to giggle.

His laughter joined hers and each time they looked at each other, the volume grew. He
rolled over on his stomach and gazed down at her. “I love you, Amy.”

She waited for a sense of joy to engulf her. She'd wanted him to love her, only now that
he'd declared himself, something still seemed to be lacking.

Could Simon fill the dark, unexplainable void that had lain inside her chest for years?
He had so many problems of his own, how could he make room for hers? A cold lump of
loneliness gathered in her chest. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. What
was she searching for? Would she recognize it if it did come along?

She'd been silent too long. His announcement deserved some sort of response, only in her
confused state of mind she couldn't be sure what hers was. To make matters worse, she
didn't know whether she wanted to continue playing the lover's game they'd begun.

Simon raised himself on one elbow, kissed the corner of her mouth, and stared down at
her. “Do you need me, Amy? Really need me, like I need you?”

Did she? There had to be more to love than mere need?

When she didn't answer immediately, a hurt expression tugged at his lips. She couldn't
have that. Silencing the cautioning voice inside her head, she lifted her chin. Simon's
emotions were fragile—too fragile—she couldn't turn him away.

She hugged him to her and kissed his cheek. “I need you too, Simon.” Stifling a sigh, she
stood up and began to remove her stockings.

With a beaming smile wreathing his face, Simon settled himself in the middle of the bed
and watched her every move. Perspiration gathered on her forehead. She wasn't good at
seduction, never had been, never would be.

She took a deep breath and hooked a finger under one bra strap. It slid off her shoulder.
She followed with the other one, unfastened the hooks in back and let the scrap of black
lace fall. A quick movement of hands and hips and the matching panties lay beside the
bra. She turned slowly and tossed him a shy glance. Did he approve of what he saw?

He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed. “You're lovely.” His features took on a look of
tenderness that turned her knees to jelly.

Feeling self-conscious of her nakedness, she moved uncertainly toward the bed. “As a
doctor, I have to advise you that"—she gulped in air—"that you shouldn't be d-doing this
sort of thing so soon.”

His crooked smile clutched at her heart. “It's a perilous world, love. This little bit of
time may be all we'll have.” He stretched out his hand and she went to him.

They made love, slept, awoke, made love, and slept again. The next time they awakened,
darkness had fallen. Amy put on her underclothes and padded into the front room. She
took a shirt, jeans and sneakers from the overnight bag she'd brought.

After she finished dressing, she took an inventory of the food situation and found
Simon's cupboards practically bare. She made a list, donned her holster and jacket, and
went to the bedroom doorway. Simon sat in a chair easing the slit leg of his jeans over
his cast.

“We'll need some groceries,” she said.

“I figured we would.” He came over and nuzzled her neck. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being loving and forgiving and for making this a wonderful day.”

She touched his cheek. “You're pretty terrific yourself.” She turned toward the door.
“I'll make a quick trip to the store up the street. I shouldn't be long.”

“Whoa, there, lady. You aren't going anywhere without me.” He grinned. “I agreed to this
arrangement so I could look after you.”

She frowned. “You need to rest and build up your strength. All of this"—she waved her arm
toward the bed—"messing around saps your energy.”

“I've got more energy than I've had in weeks.” He scooped her up. “Want to see?”

She laughed and shook her head. “If you're coming, you'd better put on a coat and hat.
It's cold out there.”

Simon put her down and cocked a green plaid driving cap on his head. “Will this do.
Mother?”

“On you it looks good. Got a heavy sock to protect the bare toes sticking out of your
cast?”

He looked at the ceiling. “Forgive her. The poor woman thinks I'm ten years old.”

She bristled and jutted her chin. “I worry about you. Something wrong with that?”

He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Nope. I'm just not used to a woman who fusses over
me.” He smiled. “Who knows? I may learn to like it.”

“Since you're a fuss-budget yourself, you'd better.” She caught hold of his sleeve.
“Let's get going.”

When they reached the sidewalk in front of the condo, she glanced up and down the
windswept street. “Wow, the place is deserted.”

“That's the nice thing about winter,” he said. “The shops close early. In the summer,
many of them stay open until nine.”

As they came alongside her station wagon, a sharp “bang” split the silence. The car's
windshield shattered. Simon swept her against him, fell to the sidewalk, and rolled into
the shelter of the car. She lay next to him, her heart hammering in unison with his.

“Now what?” he breathed.

She wriggled free and drew her gun. Simon stared at it. “What the hell—”

“Stay put.”

“No, Amy—”

She crept forward until she could get a better view and searched the shadowy area for the
sniper. Nothing. She took a risk and straightened a little. A faint sound caused her to
glance upward at the sky bridge spanning Western Avenue. A form separated itself from
the murk and rays from a street light glinted on a rifle barrel.

She sited over the car hood and fired. Before she could duck down, a bullet ricocheted
off the car's roof.

Simon yanked on her jacket. “Get the hell out of the line of fire.”

“He's not much of a shot.”

“He can always get lucky.”

When she eased up level with the hood for a quick peek, she found the sniper had ventured
to the sky bridge railing. She took careful aim and pulled the trigger. A cry echoed
through the night and the rifle clattered onto the pavement below.

Simon leaped to his feet. “I think you got him. I'll get his gun.” He dodged into the
street.

Keeping a wary eye above them, she followed. The guy might have another weapon. She
caught a movement off to her left. “He's headed down the Hillclimb,” she shouted. “I'm
going after him.”

She dashed up the steps to level three. The sniper was tearing down the stairs and had
nearly gained the second level. With a surge of satisfaction, she noticed he clutched
his right shoulder. She
had
wounded him, and a good thing too. On the Hillclimb
trees, shrubs, and massive planters made a clear shot impossible. She rushed down the
series of cement steps, hardly noticing the darkened restaurants and specialty shops
scattered along the way.

“Wait up,” Simon called.

She paused, but only for a second. Her quarry had reached the paved slope beneath the
Alaskan Way viaduct. “Stop, or I'll shoot,” she yelled. He broke into a run and her
bullet went wild. She took off after him.

Once free of the stairs, she made better time. Just ahead lay Alaskan Way and the
brightly lighted aquarium. She couldn't keep this pace much longer. A stitch in her side
hunched her over. Each breath seared her lungs.

The man veered off to the right and made for a blue sports car in an empty lot.
The
hit-and-run driver's car—
she'd bet money on it. She went down on one knee,
snapped off a shot, and heard the satisfying hiss of air.

The man let out an angry howl and scuttled across the thoroughfare to a vacant warehouse
on the pier.

She ached to stop and rest, but couldn't—needed to re-load her pistol, but couldn't do
that either. She'd forgotten to bring extra ammunition. Her first pursuit and she'd
flunked the test.

Behind her, she could hear Simon thumping down the slope. Although light weight, his
fiberglass cast slowed him down and made him clumsy. He'd be an easy mark if the sniper
had a weapon in reserve. She hurried across the street.

The gray sheetrock covered warehouse extended three-fourths the length of the wharf and
looked big enough to house a small plane. Oblong, ship-sized stretches of water
separated the pier from adjacent ones.

At the warehouse door, she fingered a broken chain and padlock dangling from the handle.
Should she take it with her? No, too heavy. The thing would only be in the way.

She swallowed to ease the burning in her throat. Only one bullet left, she'd have to make
it count. She darted around the door and stood still, breathing in the rank aroma of
long dead fish. She listened, but heard only timbers creaking in the wind.

She moved forward cautiously, feeling loose planks joggle under her weight. Desperation
gripped her. Unless she wrapped this up in a hurry, Simon would soon be stumbling around
in here.