He lowered his head to kiss her, got lost in her flavor, and had to rip his mouth free. Lust and the disquieting fear of letting her mean too much mixed uneasily in his gut as he looked down at her. "We shouldn't be doing this."
"I know."
But he kissed her again anyway—kissed her with everything he had—before pulling back once more. His breath had begun to hitch. "Chances are, no one's gonna need me tonight. But if they do, I can't afford to be distracted."
"Wouldn't do to be found with your pants down around your ankles," she agreed, and stroked her lush butt up and down the rigid, aching length of his erection.
It responded by growing harder, a feat he would have sworn wasn't possible. "Right. Uh, Lily?" He sucked in a breath as she once again rubbed against him.
"Hmm?"
"Are my eyes crossed?"
She laughed that warm, wholehearted belly laugh that always made him want to grin back and then tuck her securely under his arm—well, either that or toss her flat on her back and kiss the laughter right out of her. "Beats the heck outta me," she said. "My own view at the moment appears to be limited to the tip of my nose."
"Ah, man." Helpless to resist, he kissed her again.
He had her cobalt chenille tunic unbuttoned and was working on the front clasp of her chocolate-colored lace bra when the bedside telephone shrilled. For just an instant, his hand tightened on the fastener as he contemplated ignoring it. Then swearing, he dumped Lily onto the mattress and reached for the phone. "Taylor," he snarled.
"Zach, come quick," Jessica said in a breathless voice that had him snapping to attention. "The kidnapper is on the other line. Or at least—"
Zach tossed the receiver back on the hook and ran from the room.
Thirty minutes later, he was headed out the door with a suitcase full of money and a jaw clenched tight against the desire to curse a blue streak.
He'd had plans for when the kidnapper called, and not one of them had panned out. First, he'd been set to demand that the kidnapper let him talk to his sister if he ever wanted to see one red cent of the ransom. But instead of an actual person on the other end of the line, he'd gotten a recording. A fucking recording that set out the terms of the exchange in a whispered, androgynous voice that left no room for bargaining or demands. It merely repeated the same spiel over and over again until the tape came to an end. Then, as if that wasn't headache-producing enough, for the life of him he couldn't figure out if David's mother was the most feather-headed woman on planet Earth… or wilier than a Wall Street shark.
He'd intended to hit *69 the moment he disconnected. Obtaining pertinent information from it was a long shot, since anyone with two brain cells to rub to gether would have used a public phone. But given the probability of this being an inside job, it was still worth pursuing. He'd barely depressed the disconnect button, though, when Mrs. B. had reached past him, punched the button for Richard's room, and then snatched the receiver from his hand, babbling hysterically into it the moment her nephew picked up. The next thing Zach knew, everyone except Cassidy, who'd gone out after dinner, was milling about the parlor all talking at once.
His jaw tightened even more at the thought of what they wanted him to do. Climbing into the Jeep, he hunched grimly over the steering wheel as he reached for the ignition. This was not smart, and he'd argued against taking the ransom into a blind setup with no precautions in place—particularly without an assurance that Glynnis and David were still in good health and would be returned safely as soon as the money was dropped off. Money that just incidentally had been collected and put in the home-office safe that very afternoon.
And now, as if things weren't tense enough, he caught a whiff of Lily's scent where it had no business being, and his teeth clenched with such force he was surprised they didn't crack in two. "Christ," he muttered. That was just what he needed. If he'd had half a second without the Beaumonts all yapping at him, he might have thought to wash the smell of her off his hands before setting off. The woman was messing with his mind way too much, and it was past time he quit procrastinating and did something about it. It wasn't like him to let a female distract him the way he'd allowed this one to do.
And yet…
Where the hell had she disappeared to? He'd wanted to pull her aside and have her make note of who hung around the parlor while he was gone, and who disappeared for any significant length of time. When in the midst of all the hubbub he'd turned to look for her, however, she was nowhere to be seen.
Which should give you a clue. That's your entire life in a nutshell. Gunning the engine, he shot up the drive. Barring your unit, which you know will always be here to back you up if they're able, you've got exactly one person you can depend on to be there when needed. That's you, bud. And no one else.
Miguel saw the master sergeant's SUV shoot out of the driveway and fishtail as it hit the road, and he jerked upright in his car. Dios . He'd begun to think he would fossilize here before anyone finally made a move. It had been the longest six days of his life, and as he watched the vehicle straighten out and then roar off down the road, he reached for the ignition key.
But his hand dropped back to his side before it connected, leaving the enginestill turned off.He'd only seen one person behind the tinted glass of Taylor's jeep when it had passed beneath the light at the top of the driveway. One .
The master sergeant. All by himself. Which meant the man's woman had been left behind.
Ripe for the picking.
In the past week, Miguel had made careful forays around the estate grounds, trying to figure out what was going on. He'd hadn't been successful, but he had learned that there were seven people in residence.
And the only one he had any cause to worry about had just driven off as if el diablo himself was on his trail.
Miguel opened the car door and eased out, cursing under his breath when his legs, stiff from hours of sitting in one position, nearly buckled beneath his weight. But there was no need for profanity, he decided, as he bent down to scoop up the empty food wrappers that had wafted out in his wake and tossed them back on the seat with the others. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. And if he—how did the gringos say it?—played his cards correctly? Then his long wait was at an end.
Zach had emptied his mind of everything but the chore at hand by the time he entered Moran State Park, driving slowly beneath its white signature arch. As he approached the Midway camp area moments later, he turned off the Jeep's headlights, then coasted to a stop within the shadow of the shower house by the extra vehicle lot. He killed the engine and sat unmoving until his eyes adjusted to the night. Then he double-checked to make sure he was in the right place.
sites 31-36, the sign read. His directions were to drop off the suitcase at Site 32, which appeared to be up the hill.
He reached up and flipped the overhead light switch to "Off." Then, picking up the money satchel from the passenger seat, he eased out of the Jeep and closed the door quietly behind him, glad to see the wind had died down. Cascade Lake lapped gently at the shore across the main road as he made his silent way in the opposite direction.
The spur road to the camp area climbed steeply for a short stretch before curving to the right around the hill, but he left it before reaching that point and cut up over the bank. The site he sought was likely to be second in line just around the bend, but marching up the road in search of it didn't strike him as the shrewdest move he could make. Doing what he was trained to do seemed to him a better bet. He picked his way through the woods with care, traversing damp undergrowth and downed trees as he climbed the hill.
Moments later he squatted in the deeper shadow of an immense evergreen on the knob of the hill and looked down on Site 32. Searching for signs of life, he gave the campground below a preliminary once-over.