Becca had rather hoped there might be something, nothing terminal, naturally, but something. Otherwise, they still had not a single clue about anything. Krimakov had kidnapped Sam to get her back to Riptide. Then he’d shot her in the shoulder to deliver that ridiculous note. In the gym parking lot. Nothing made sense.
That night Adam came to her. It was very dark in her room. She was lying there, unable to sleep even though it was very late, staring toward the window, looking at the slice of white moon just above the maple treetops. The trees were silhouetted stark and silent against the night, and they were perfectly still, no breeze at all. Thank God the house was air-conditioned. It was cool in her bedroom.
Her door opened, then closed quietly. His voice was soft, pitched low. “Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. And I’m not here to jump you, Becca.”
She looked over at him, standing with his back against her closed door.
“Why not?”
He laughed, a painful sound, and walked toward her, tall, strong, and she wanted him.
He said, stopping beside her bed, looking down at her, “You never say what I expect. I want to jump you, at least a dozen times an hour, but no, this is your father’s house. One doesn’t do that under the parental roof when one isn’t married. But don’t get me wrong. If I could strip that nightgown off you, I would have it gone in a second flat. But I can’t. Not here. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Oh hell, that’s a big lie. I’m here because I want to kiss you until we’re both stupid with pleasure.”
He was beside her then, drawing her up and against his chest, and he kissed her, lightly, then with more pressure, and she opened her mouth and didn’t want him to stop. His breath was hot and sweet, his scent rich, dark, and that mouth of his was delicious, and she let herself enjoy him fully. She wanted more and more. It was Adam who pushed her gently back after what seemed like only an instant.
“You’re beautiful,” he said and streaked his fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her ears. “Even with your hair still a bit brassy.”
“I’m not stupid with pleasure yet, Adam.”
“I’m not, either, but we’ve got to stop.” He was breathing hard, his hands flexing and unflexing against her back.
“Maybe we could kiss just a little bit more?”
“Listen, if we don’t stop right now, I’ll start crying because I know that sooner or later we’d have to stop. We’ll stop now before it kills me.”
“All right, then. You be strong and let me mess with you just a bit.” She kissed his chin once, then again. She touched her fingers to his cheeks, his nose, his brows, lightly traced over his mouth. She looked at his mouth as she said, “I haven’t told you this before, Adam. So much has happened. We haven’t known each other all that long, and nothing we’ve done together has been remotely normal or predictable. But here goes: You’re very, very sexy.”
He stared at her in the dim light as if he hadn’t understood her. “What did you say? You think I’m sexy?”
“Oh, yes, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. And finally I’ve gotten to kiss you. I like it, very much. I kissed your chin because it’s sexy, too.”
He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and with her. “I guess being sexy is okay. Is that all you think of me, Becca? I’m just a sexy hunk? Isn’t there anything else, maybe, that you’d like to say to me?”
“What else should I say? Your ego is big enough without my saying more.” Then she looked up at him beneath her lashes, a provocative thing to do, and she knew it. For the first time in so very long, actually, longer than she could remember, she allowed herself to enjoy what was happening here.
He didn’t say anything, then suddenly he pulled her tightly against him again. He was rubbing his big hands up and down her back. His breathing was sharp, ragged. “I was scared to death when you were in that damned gym parking lot. When he shot that dart at you, Savich had to just about sit on me. I knew I shouldn’t move, shouldn’t yell like a banshee, but it was hard just staying still, watching you, damned hard. In fact, it was about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my blessed life.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her loosely now.
His warm breath feathered over her skin. “Oh, yeah, I was married once. It was a long time ago. Her name was Vivie. Everything was okay for a while, then it just wasn’t. She didn’t want kids and I did. But I’m not serious about anyone else. It’s just you, Becca. Just you.”
“That’s nice,” she said and yawned against his shoulder. Then she bit his neck, then kissed where she’d bitten him. “I wish you were naked.” To his immense credit, he didn’t do anything other than shake a bit. “This is very close, Becca. My fingers are actually itching they want to touch you so much. But this is your father’s house. We can’t. Hey, how would you like to go out in the backyard, maybe we could take a couple of blankets?”
“Out from under the parental roof?”
“That’s it. Oh yeah, for sure we could wave to the FBI agents that are scattered around.” He sighed deeply, kissed her ear, and sighed again. “My molecules are even horny.”
Becca sighed and rested her hand on his chest. His heart was pounding hard and fast beneath her palm. She arched up and kissed his throat, then eased back in the circle of his arms. “Not fair at all. I mean, the shirt you’re wearing is nice but I would love to kiss your chest, maybe even run my hands down over your belly.”
He shuddered, drew quickly away from her, and rose. “I’ve been feeling your breasts against me and it’s driving me nuts. Now, since we can’t be wicked the way I would like, I’ve got to get out of here. I just can’t take any more. I’d like to try but I know it wouldn’t work. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I might be a bit late. I’ve got to go home and do some stuff.” And he was gone. Her bedroom door closed very quietly behind him.
She sat there on her bed, hugging her knees. So suddenly her life had changed. And in all this nightmare, she’d found herself a man she hadn’t believed could even exist. His first wife, Vivie, had had peas for brains. She hoped that Vivie-silly name-lived as far away as Saint Petersburg, Russia. It was a good enough distance away.
Soon enough, of course, Krimakov intruded. She wanted to shoot him, just point a gun at his chest and fire. She wanted him gone, into oblivion, so he couldn’t ever hurt anyone again.
The next day, at precisely noon, when Governor Bledsoe of New York was walking his dog, Jabbers, in his protected garden, a sniper shooting from a distance of about five hundred feet nailed his dog right through the folds of his neck. Jabbers was rushed to the vet and it looked like he would survive, just like his master had.
Thomas turned slowly to his daughter, the two of them alone in the house. “This is over the top. It’s just too much. Damnation, he shot the dog in the neck. Unbelievable. At least the sick bastard isn’t here.”
“But why did he do it?” Becca said. “Why?”
“To laugh at us,” Thomas said. “To make this big joke. He wants us to know just how invincible he is, how he can do anything he wants to and get away with it. How he’s here and then he’s there, and we’ll never get him. Yes, he’s laughing his head off.”
28
Gaylan Woodhouse sat at an angle across from Thomas’s desk with his face in the shadows, as was his wont, and said, “I don’t want you to worry about your daughter, Thomas. Your whereabouts will not be leaked. As you know, the media is still in a frenzy over the shooting of poor Jabbers. The country is primarily amused at his audacity, titillated, glued to their TVs. Everyone wants to know about Krimakov, this man who swore to kill you twenty-some years ago. By shooting that damned dog, he’s turned up the heat. He wants the media to find you for him and then he’ll come after you.”