Dangerous Lover

Seven

Summerville

Every Christmas morning for six years, Caroline had woken up with tears drying on her face. She didn’t remember crying during the night, but she would wake up with wet cheeks, swollen eyes and a feeling of oppression so great it was as if a giant boulder were sitting on her chest.

Not this Christmas morning. She’d slept deeply and well, completely warm in her bed, though she kept the temperature in the house low at night.

Most mornings she woke up slightly chilled, but not now.

Right now, even though she was naked, she was warm down to her bones.

She came awake in low, swooping stages, a degree of consciousness at a time. By the time she realized that she had had fabulous sex last night with an amazing lover, that he was the source of the glow of heat under the covers and that her pillow was an undeniably hard but somehow comfortable shoulder, she was smiling.

She never thought it would be possible to smile on a Christmas morning, but she definitely was.

Her situation hadn’t changed at all. She’d lost the last of her family two months ago. She had a mountain of debt so crushing it would take her twenty years just to start to get out from under it. Her house was falling down around her ears.

It was all still there, but she didn’t care. Somehow, she was able to let those thoughts recede, far far away, like a long, dark cloud low on the horizon on a sunny day.

Right now, she was happy.

“I heard that,” a voice rumbled under her ear. One big hand moved in her hair, long fingers delicately massaging her scalp. The other lay in the small of her back, heavy, an intense source of heat.

“You heard me smile?” she asked, charmed at the thought.

“Uh-huh.” That big hand moved from the small of her back to smooth over her bottom. Nerve endings sparkled to life as he lazily moved his palm over her buttock.

There was utter silence. Caroline didn’t know what time it was and didn’t care, but judging from the quality of the stone gray light outside the window, it was probably early morning on a blustery, snowy day. It must have snowed again during the night. Snow lay heavy on the branches of the big oak outside her window and was inches thick on the windowsill. It absorbed all sounds. There was utter silence outside, not even a car passing.

They could have been the last humans in the world.

Caroline didn’t care about that, either.

“Merry Christmas,” Jack said, his voice so low she didn’t know whether she’d heard him talking above her head or whether she’d heard the words rumbled deep in his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” she answered, the words muffled against his chest.

Yes, indeed, it was the best Christmas morning in many many years, and it was getting merrier by the second.

His hand was covering both buttocks now, smoothing slowly, warmly over her skin. Such a simple thing—a strong male hand caressing her gently, and yet the effect was incredible. Caroline could actually feel blood rushing to her sex. She could feel herself growing moist and slightly swollen.

Oh, God! His hand was gently probing between her thighs from behind, his fingers touching her moist nether parts. Soft pressure and her legs just naturally opened. He inserted a hairy thigh between hers and opened her right leg so far he had unimpeded access to her with his hand.

He used it, too. A long finger touched her opening softly, spreading moisture around, moving so slowly she had ample time to object if she wanted to. The thought crossed her mind briefly, and she dismissed it as insane.

Jack was causing sensual whiplash. His hand between her thighs was exciting her, arousing her fully. His hand against the back of her head lowered slightly and began lazily massaging her from her shoulders to the sensitive skin of her nape. He must have had some wizardlike knowledge of human—or at least female—anatomy because she could feel herself relaxing by the second under his ministering hand.

Though the touch was light and soothing, he seemed to be able to reach deep into her muscles, unkink the knots, finding exactly where the stress points were and kneading them into oblivion. All the while igniting a fire between her legs.

She nearly whimpered when he entered her with one finger and started thrusting slowly, gently.

He somehow kept his cool, too. How did he do it?

She was melting by the second, her heart tripping a fast beat, breath speeding up and he was relaxed and calm. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear—slow, steady, reassuring.

His hand between her thighs somehow followed the beat of his heart. The total excitement generated by the hand between her thighs was starting to edge out the deeply relaxing movements of the other hand when he gripped her neck lightly and raised her up farther on his chest. His mouth covered hers in a slow, deep kiss that turned the blood in her veins to warm honey.

A shift of his legs, and she was somehow straddling him, fully open to the broad head of his penis, which she could feel against her sex, hot and hard.

He pulled his mouth away slightly, though she could still feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “Stop me if you don’t want this.”

He had nudged his penis into her opening. He hadn’t entered fully yet, the huge bulbous head was stretching the tissues of her opening. Even penetrating her that small amount was exciting.

Not want this?

He circled his penis, stretching her even more. “Don’t…stop,” Caroline gasped.

“Good,” he murmured, covering her mouth again with his.

The kiss was as long and languid as his entry of her. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue stroked hers while he entered her slowly, slowly. God, it seemed to last forever. She’d almost forgotten how incredibly big he was. It should have hurt—there’d been very little foreplay—but, incredibly, her body was ready for him.

She’d slept half-on, half-off Jack, enclosed in his arms. While she slept, her body had been readying itself for his.

Finally, he slid into her fully, down to the thick base of his penis, stretching her completely. He didn’t move, he simply kept kissing her, exploring her mouth leisurely.

Caroline sighed into his mouth, shifting so that he was somehow closer, one hand in the warmth of his long hair, the other flat against his broad chest. His hand tightened on her neck as he explored her mouth in rough, deep strokes of his tongue. Inside a minute, his penis was echoing the strokes of his tongue, long and deep and slow.

Being on top usually gave a woman control over the lovemaking, but Caroline wasn’t controlling anything. She didn’t have to do anything, think anything at all. All she had to do was lie in his arms and let herself be ravished, let the slow strokes of his tongue and his penis in her spread honeyed warmth throughout her system.

One large hand pressed down on her backside as he lifted himself up into her, driving slowly, deeply, as steady as a metronome, like a warm, steel machine. Time spun out in the quiet room, the only sounds their breathing and the slight creak of the bedsprings.

After a time that could have been ten minutes or an hour, the angle of his strokes changed, deepened, speeded up. The hot pleasure that had spread throughout her body pooled in her groin and turned in a flash into blinding heat. His grip on her backside tightened as the strokes became sharper, faster, nudging upward at an angle that hit all her pleasure spots.

The creaking increased, the rhythm became faster. He wasn’t withdrawing almost all the way out to slide back in, as he had in the beginning. Now they were short, hard strokes that created a heat so intense it prickled in her veins. A moan made it past Caroline’s throat and came out into his mouth as she gently bit his tongue.

It was as if she’d kicked him into another gear. He jolted and made a noise deep in his chest. The thrusts were faster now, harder than before, and she was burning up from the inside with them. She could feel the steely muscles of his belly and thighs rippling as he worked her.

She could barely breathe, the heat was so intense, boiling up from where they were joined to spread throughout her entire body. She lifted away from his kiss and opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again, little sparks of light moving against her inner eyelids. He had been watching her so intently through slitted eyes she couldn’t bear it, his gaze seemed to sear her soul.

Jack bent his head to kiss her neck and nipped her lightly with his teeth. The tiny pinprick of pain set her off.

“Oh!” she cried, holding on to him tightly as her vagina convulsed sharply. Somehow Jack found the rhythm of her contractions and prolonged the orgasm—forever it seemed. Just as they started dying down, his motions became rougher, less controlled, faster and, impossibly, he swelled even more inside her. With a huge groan, he locked her to him with a strong arm across her back, embedded as deeply as he could go and exploded.

Caroline opened her eyes again to find his face contracted, almost in pain, teeth clenched tightly against the sounds that wanted to escape. Inside her, she could feel the jets of semen as he came in huge spurts. She’d never felt anything like that before—as if his climax were hers, too. The jets were so strong that she had another little climax on the wings of her first.

He felt that, too. His jaw muscles clenched as he tried to hold still for her.

Finally, it was over. Caroline’s head sank back down to Jack’s shoulder, and all her muscles loosened. His hands loosened their hold on her and began caressing again, lightly. More to relax than to arouse.

Arousal was impossible anyway. There was nothing left in her to excite, all her cells had turned into little puddles of protoplasm.

Slowly, Jack withdrew from her. Amazingly, he was still semierect, though Caroline had no idea where he could go with it. He could forget about her. She was already starting that long, luscious free fall back into sleep.

“Caroline? Honey?”

“Mmmmff.” Caroline had no desire to talk or do anything other than lie bonelessly on him, feeling his hand moving gently through her hair. She might never get out of bed again.

“It snowed all night. I need to shovel the snow on your drive and the paving; otherwise, it’ll turn to ice.”

“No,” she mumbled. He wanted to get out of bed? Caroline held him more tightly. “Later.”

“Believe me, honey, I’d rather stay in bed with you, but it needs to be done.” She felt him kiss her hair and move out of her grasp. He threw the covers back just long enough to get out of bed, then covered her back up immediately.

The instant Jack left the bed, it turned cold under the covers. For the first time, Caroline was aware of how wet her groin was with her juices and his. Jack tucked the comforter around her shoulders, his hand lingering for a moment, then she heard him go into the bathroom.

He came out and a few moments later, the door closed quietly behind him. He must have dressed though she hadn’t heard. He was the quietest man she’d ever known.

Caroline wanted to watch him dress, she wanted to see him naked in the daylight, but her eyes simply wouldn’t open. Her breathing slowed, and she drifted into sleep as if into the arms of a beloved friend.

When she woke again, the quality of the light outside the window had changed. Even through the overcast she could tell it wasn’t early-morning light anymore. Caroline lay in bed, thoroughly relaxed. The extra little nap had done her good, and she felt refreshed, almost…happy.

Let’s not go overboard, she thought wryly. Some would even say she’d made a huge mistake and was headed for trouble. Sleeping with your boarder was not a good idea on so many levels it wasn’t funny. When the affair ended, it was possible that he’d look for quarters somewhere else, and she’d have lost a very good boarder in exchange for some sex. Very good sex, it was true, but still.

Something impinged at the edge of consciousness, and suddenly she was aware of a regular noise that had been in the background a long time, coming from outside. Even while she’d napped there’d been the noise, she realized.

What was it? A regular, scraping noise. Caroline threw back the covers and dived for her dressing gown hanging from a hook on the bathroom door, hopping barefoot gingerly to her slippers. It was cold!

Pulling on the dressing gown, she made for the window but stopped in her tracks when she passed the mirror on the chest of drawers.

Caroline hardly recognized herself. Her hair was a wild reddish mass around her face, flying in every direction. She looked rumpled and unkempt and…incredibly satisfied. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth looked slightly swollen from Jack’s endless kisses. There was a tiny mark on her throat that could only be—a hickey. My God, she hadn’t had one of those since high school. She was sure Jack hadn’t meant to give her one, but she distinctly remembered him sucking at her skin while he was coming.

The memory of that moment, of feeling him swell inside her, then explode, brought a bright flush to her face and neck and had her clenching her thighs. She could still feel him inside her. Seeing her face in the mirror, Caroline thought she looked like a woman still making love.

She would have been appalled if it weren’t for the fact that it had been so long since she’d seen her own face as anything but pale and pinched with worry. Now all she needed was a flower behind her ear, and she could have been a carefree tourist on vacation in Hawaii with her lover.

The swishing sound continued. Curious, Caroline glanced outside the window and saw him, methodically shoveling snow and doing a superb job of it. Somehow he’d found where she kept the shovel in the garage and had cleared a path almost to the street. It was a long path and the snow was deep. He must have shifted several tons of snow.

He’d not only cleared the walkway to the street, but he’d also cleared the driveway and found the bag of rock salt in the garage and strewn it over the paving stones so it wouldn’t ice over.

It would have taken Randy, Jenna’s nephew, five hours to do that job half as well, and it would have cost her $30.

As if there was an invisible thread connecting them, he suddenly stopped and looked up. Meeting his dark gaze was like a punch to the stomach.

She raised a hand in greeting.

He deserved more than that. He’d done a hard and disagreeable task for her without her even asking. Caroline threw up the window sash and stuck her head out into the freezing air.

“Thank you! Come in now, and I’ll fix you a warm breakfast, you must be freezing!” Her breath formed a cloud around her.

He only had that light denim jacket on, no match for the bitter cold. He didn’t even have gloves! Caroline made a mental note to buy him warm winter gloves as a thank-you for shoveling the snow. She’d love to buy him a jacket, but her budget wouldn’t stretch that far, and he probably wouldn’t accept it. He seemed like a proud man who wouldn’t like to be reminded that he couldn’t afford a winter wardrobe. He might accept gloves, though.

Jack waved his hand at her to get back. “Close that window! Don’t catch cold! I’ll be finished in a little while.”

He waited until she pushed the sash down, then bent to his task again. Caroline watched through the pane for a moment, admiring his economy of movement. He seemed to apply exactly the right effort for the job, movements regular and smooth.

Suddenly, she flashed on the memory of another moment when his movements were regular and smooth—inside her, pumping with the regularity of a machine. The memory sent a heat wave through her so intense her skin tingled, and she knew she was blushing furiously.

This was something Caroline was simply going to have to control. The man was no fool. He was observant and perceptive. Her skin was like a beacon signaling what she was thinking and feeling. She was remembering the sex, and it was out of her control. Amazing. Normally, Caroline had massive amounts of self-control and was always very cool and in command, the complete mistress of herself with men.

Jack, apparently, was the exception.

Well, she was going to have to learn fast how to deal with her wayward thoughts because Jack was going to be coming in very soon, and she had to be able to deal with him without turning red every other second.

Half an hour later, Caroline had showered quickly and cleaned up after last night’s dinner.

In the shower, she had resolutely thought of her bank account, the boiler, and the last payment for Toby’s funeral, which was due and would wipe her out financially for a couple of months. All things guaranteed to depress her spirits.

She needed that, because when she started washing herself, she was constantly reminded of how she’d spent the night. Washing herself between the legs had required particularly disheartening thoughts because before she soaped up, she could smell Jack and sex in the steamy cabinet and could still feel him between her legs, where she was slightly sore.

So while she dressed, went downstairs and proceeded to clean up, she was giving herself little pep talks about how she could remain cool when Jack walked back in. She could, she definitely could, why—

“Hello.”

Oh God, all it took was one word in that deep voice, and her stomach muscles clenched and every ounce of blood that wasn’t pooling between her thighs was rushing to her face. He’d come in so quietly she hadn’t even heard him, which was a miracle considering that the garage door’s hinges needed oiling.

“Hi.” Caroline winced inwardly. Her voice sounded strangled, and her face could probably substitute for a stoplight.

Jack was standing very still, just inside the door, the accumulated snow on his clothes starting to melt and drip onto the floor. They stared at each other, Caroline feeling flushed and awkward.

What was this? What kind of morning after were they having? A thank-you-for-the-bang-ma’am-and-I’ll-be-moseyingon-up-to-my-room-after-breakfast kind of morning? Was it a one-night stand, what they’d had? Were they starting a…a relationship, and how awkward would that be with a boarder?

It was only when Caroline saw that his hands were almost blue from the cold that she flushed even more deeply, only this time with shame.

Manners and concern for others had been drummed into her from childhood, and here she was, dithering about how she should react to Jack, while he waited patiently, hungry and tired. He must be freezing, he hadn’t had breakfast yet, he’d done her an enormous favor, and she was obsessed with what to call what they were doing

Caroline held out a hand. “Let me take your jacket, it’s dripping. You must be freezing! Go on up and take a shower and when you come down, I’ll have a nice hot breakfast waiting for you.”

He walked up to her, calmly, so close she started to take an instinctive step back before she stopped herself.

He looked down at her, smiling slightly. He’d noticed her instinctive movement. Damn the man, he noticed everything.

“Sounds great. I’ll look forward to that, but first—” He bent down and covered her mouth with his. He didn’t touch her anywhere but with his mouth, a source of infinite pleasure and warmth. Cold was coming off him and his clothes in waves, but he seemed to be able to infuse warmth in her through his mouth alone. His tongue stroked hers lazily, as if he had all the time in the world.

Kisses have a development, just like novels or movies. They usually start out slow and rise to a crescendo, usually becoming harder, more penetrating, involving the body and not just the mouth. In Caroline’s experience, kisses led to sex or at least the promise of sex.

This was the first kiss she’d ever had that didn’t seem to be going anywhere. It just sort of meandered pleasantly all on its own. His tongue and lips plucked at hers, over and over, as if he’d be perfectly content to stay there all day, kissing her gently, touching her only with his mouth. It was a summer’s day by the riverbanks kind of kiss, completely different from the intense sex of last night.

It was easy to drift with a kiss like that, lightly skimming the waves of consciousness. Caroline stopped being conscious of breathing or of standing slightly on the balls of her feet to reach his mouth.

It was Caroline who bumped it up to the next level, or at least tried to. She wanted a deeper taste of him and rose even higher on her feet, clutching his jacket. The shock of encountering patches of ice on his jacket brought her back to reality with a thump. She lowered herself back on her heels and stepped back. They looked at each other. He had a slight flush along his high cheekbones, and his mouth was wet.

Caroline didn’t dare look down.

Dazed, she said, “You, um, need to get out of that jacket right now.”

“Here.” Jack unzipped the denim jacket and handed it to her. He had a faint smile on his face, or at least the grooves in his cheeks were deeper than usual. “And at this point, I’m really looking forward to that breakfast.”

She stood, holding the jacket that felt like a block of ice.

“Caroline?”

She started. “Oh! Um, go on up, now. Take your shower.” She made shooing movements with her hand.

Jack inclined his head gravely, turned around, and took the stairs three at a time.

Caroline stood and watched him go up. She shouldn’t. She knew that. It had been bad enough standing staring like a dummy when he’d smiled. Sort of smiled. When he lost that grim look he became incredibly attractive. Her heart had definitely thumped.

Note to self, she thought. Never make Jack Prescott laugh. She’d have a heart attack.

Even just watching him go up the stairs—God!

Desperately looking for something to distract her from thoughts of the wonderful view as he’d gone up the stairs, she turned the radio on, thinking to catch the news. The news was usually pretty much a downer. Today, though, all she could catch was static, so she had to concentrate really really hard on cooking breakfast.

By the time Jack came back down again, Caroline had herself in hand. She’d given herself a little pep talk—reminding herself what would happen to her bank account if he decided to leave after the first month because he couldn’t deal with a slack-jawed, drooling landlady had helped a lot.

Caroline had even taken three minutes to breathe deeply from her diaphragm, repeating ommmm under her breath, just like her yoga teacher had taught her. So she was cool, calm and collected when Jack made his appearance in the doorway.

Except for the fact that the man messed massively with her head, Caroline was so incredibly grateful for the company. Without Jack, she knew how she’d have spent her day. Going over accounts, trying to add up the unaddupable and come out with a little profit at the end. An exercise in futility. Maybe doing the laundry. Finishing the new Janet Evanovich. Skipping lunch. Early dinner on a tray, watching TV.

In bed before nine. A bad night’s sleep, full of ghosts and nightmares. Waking up to a long, lonely day.

Instead, she had company. Not just any company, either. No, she had an incredibly attractive man who said interesting things, when she could get him to talk. And when she couldn’t…well, there was always the eye-candy aspect.

Jack sat down, and Caroline started delivering food to the table, on an industrial level. Toasted homemade bread with butter and homemade orange marmalade and blackcurrant jelly. Scones. Buckwheat pancakes, a fluffy cheese omelet, bacon, whole wheat biscuits, link sausage, fruit salad.

Jack sat, hands in lap.

“Please,” Caroline said. “Dig in.”

“Not until you come sit down and eat with me.”

She sat and watched, pleased, as he piled food on his plate, an amazing amount, but then he was a big man who’d just done a full morning’s work. “You like your coffee black, right?” At his nod, she poured the coffee, happy that she’d splurged on French roast.

“This is great. How come you’re not eating?” Jack frowned.

“I’m eating,” Caroline protested. “Just not…as much as you.” Caroline nibbled on her toast, watching him down his fourth slice.

It gave her such pleasure watching him. She had out a brilliant red cotton tablecloth and her red-and-white-porcelain breakfast set. The rich smell of the coffee rose to her nostrils, melding with the smells of the toast and jam and omelet and bacon and sausage. It looked like Christmas. It smelled like Christmas. It was Christmas.

Caroline sipped her coffee, smiling. “If it’s okay with you, I thought we’d have a big breakfast, then have our Christmas meal around six.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jack set her delicate china cup down in its saucer without a sound and took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back. Caroline could feel the softness of his lips and the slight rasp of his unshaved beard. Jack’s eyes held hers. “I have a few ideas about what we can do in the meantime.”

Her heart gave a huge lurch in her chest. He wasn’t grinning suggestively, but there could be no doubt what he meant. The heat in his eyes could have melted steel. What she saw there took her breath away.

This was so far off her radar, sitting here on Christmas morning, her hand in the hand of the sexiest man she’d ever seen, both of them thinking of the night before. Both of them thinking about sex. Both of them thinking that soon, they’d be back in bed.

He’d felt the little jolt in her hand as he’d said the words. Her hand trembled slightly in his. She couldn’t think of a word to say. The silence of the house enveloped them as they watched each other.

The silence. The silence of the house. The house was silent. Completely, utterly still.

“Oh, God no!” Caroline jumped up, all pleasurable thoughts of lovemaking and celebrating Christmas gone, vanished from her head as if they’d never lodged there.

She knew exactly what that silence meant. The heating system gave off a constant low hum, a background noise that became white noise, something you forgot instantly, but it was always there. The utter silence in the house could only mean one thing—the boiler had died.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“The boiler,” she whispered. “Oh, Jack, the boiler’s just kicked the bucket again, oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

Caroline knew exactly what the boiler dying entailed. Mack the Jerk wouldn’t come until Monday evening at the earliest, so they had three miserable, painful days to look forward to.

The house would take about two hours to lose its heat, then the icy fingers of the outside world would reach in and squeeze the house and them, hard.

All of today, all of Sunday and all of Monday would be spent in the freezing cold. It meant bundling up with every item of clothing possible, until only the fingertips and nose showed, and they would slowly chill so much it would hurt. It meant huddling around the fireplace, roasting on one side, freezing on the other. Any other part of the house would be so cold it was painful.

Once, she’d actually had to crack the ice in the toilets to relieve herself.

Foolish foolish Caroline, thinking that this Christmas would be any different from past Christmases, hard and lonely.

The light elation she’d had since waking up had vanished utterly. Things had seemed…so different. For the first time in a long while, there was a lot to look forward to—the zing of attraction she hadn’t felt in years, a couple of days just lazing around, flirting, having fabulous sex.

Instead, a couple of grim days trying to just stay alive in the freezing cold was what she had to look forward to.

“Relax,” Jack murmured, and ran a finger down her cheek.

Easy for him to say. Though, come to think of it, maybe he knew exactly what it was like to have to huddle for days seeking warmth. He’d fought in the Hindu Kush. She distinctly remembered him saying that. She knew enough geography to know exactly where the Hindu Kush was—the foothills of the Himalayas. So this was something he could do.

It’s just that this wasn’t a mission to some godforsaken outback, where hardship was the norm. It was a home he’d paid good money to live in, and he had the right to expect comfort.

Caroline had wanted some lightheartedness back in her life, after so many years of struggle and darkness. She’d been so looking forward to a couple of days of flirtation and lightness and…well, yes, sex.

She’d been planning on drowning him in good food and raiding the Lake wine cellar. What good were all those bottles of Syrah and Valpolicella doing down there in the dark?

And instead, here she was, in a repeat of the horrors of the Kippings. Cardigans pulled out, polite smiles, strangled conversation trying to avoid the stark truth of a freezing home.

Jack studied her features, then turned on his heels.

He was leaving.

Caroline didn’t blame him a bit.

“Jack?” It came out a small croak.

He turned.

This was so hard, after all her childish yearnings. Merry Christmas, indeed. Caroline forced herself to stand upright and caught herself twisting her hands. She let them drop by her side. This was hard, yes, but she’d been doing hard for a long, long time now.

“Do you—” She had to swallow past the tightness in her throat. “Do you want your money back?”

She’d surprised him. He looked totally blank for a moment. There was something about his face that told her he wasn’t often surprised. Then he frowned in puzzlement. “Why would I want that?”

“Because—because you’re going to spend the Christmas weekend in a freezing-cold house. That wasn’t what you paid for. I imagine you want to leave.”

He searched her features. “You’re upset,” he said. “So you get a free one.” He turned around again.

Caroline stood, swaying a little, blinking with surprise, holding her arms around her midriff. Already the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees. “So…where are you going?”

“To go get the toolkit in the garage,” he said, without turning around, “so I can fix that damned boiler.”

JFK Airport

“ENP Security, how may I help you?”

Deaver turned into the plastic shell of the public phone at Kennedy. “Yeah,” he said in a heavy, nasal Midwestern accent. “Can I speak to Jack Prescott? This is Pat Lawrence, tell him we met at Intersec in Dubai last year.”

Coming into Customs as a foreigner had been beyond weird, but it had gone smoothly. Security was primed to question Middle Eastern males, not Finns. The photo likeness had been enough for Deaver to be waved through.

First order of business, find Prescott. The Old Man had died, Prescott would be the new CEO of ENP. Deaver had to find out if he was in North Carolina still.

Axel’s documents would hold for a while, but soon he’d need more.

He prepared to be put on hold. The ENP secretaries wouldn’t put anyone through to Prescott immediately. They’d make him jump through hoops. Deaver had a phone card and was willing to wait it out, though.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the secretary said, instead of Hold please. “Mr. Prescott is no longer with the company.”

Deaver straightened. “What? That’s ridiculous! Of course—”

“The company has been sold to Orion Security and Mr. Nathan Bodine is the new CEO. Have a nice day.” The dial tone came on.

Fuck! Deaver stared at the phone, jaw clenched, breath coming in spurts. The son of a bitch had sold the company. His father barely dead in the ground, and the bastard handed over his life’s work, just like that. Well, of course. Fucker had a fortune in diamonds. He wasn’t going to go to work every day when he had a fucking fortune in his hand.

Deaver angrily punched out another number. Prescott’s home line. Secretive bastard had never given him his home number. Deaver’d had to lift it from company files.

Eight rings. He was about to hang up when a recorded female voice answered. “The number you have dialed is no longer connected.”

Son of a bitch had run! Simply pulled up stakes and disappeared!

Deaver hadn’t factored that in at all. Prescott had thrown him to the dogs and stolen his money, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he would disappear with it.

Prescott was a close-mouthed bastard and didn’t have friends—or at least men he’d have confided in—in the company. Even if Deaver wanted to take the chance of showing his face in Monroe, he’d probably come up with nothing. No one would know where Prescott had run off to.

Deaver knew. Fucker had gone to his woman, this Caroline Lake. Find her, find him, find the diamonds.

He needed to regroup, and he needed ID and weapons.

There was a man in New York named Drake, lived out in Brighton Beach. Drake could get anything, anywhere, as long as you had the price. Deaver would hang out in Manhattan, get himself kitted out with new ID, while he searched the Net for Caroline Lake.

Deaver punched in a Brighton Beach number and waited.

“Drake,” a smooth bass voice answered.