Heart of Gold

TWO

“IS THAT REALLY NECESSARY, Mr. Callan?” Faith asked as she passed him the salad bowl.

Shane followed the path of her startled dark eyes to the place where his tweed jacket opened just enough to give her a glimpse of the nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson strapped to his shoulder.

“It’s just part of the uniform,” he said blandly, his cool, level gaze drinking in her appearance. She had traded her sweatshirt for a soft, aquamarine V-neck sweater, but she still wore no makeup and no jewelry except for the simple heart necklace. Even so, he had all he could do to pull his gaze off her.

“It’s a fashion accessory I’d rather not see around my home,” Faith said weakly. Strange, contradictory thrills ran through her at the thought that Shane Callan would look good holding a gun.

Shane gave her a dangerous smile full of predatory promise. “Then stop staring at my chest. Please pass the pepper.”

Trying to ignore the rough sensuality of his low voice, Faith handed him the pepper mill. His hand closed around it, briefly trapping her fingers beneath his. Like metal filings to magnets, her gaze flew up to meet his as her heart vaulted into her throat. Shane’s expression gave away nothing, yet the message that passed between them was very clear on a basic, instinctive level. Faith shivered as he allowed her to draw her hand away.

Holy smoke, she thought, staring down at her plate. In twelve years of marriage she had never experienced such a powerful physical reaction as she had when this man touched her-and he didn’t even do it on purpose. What rotten luck that she would find that kind of attraction with a man who was a total creep. A handsome creep, but a creep just the same, she decided, trying to dredge up some of the anger she had wallowed in earlier.

Shane took note of the color that tinted Faith’s fair complexion, then forced his attention away again as he felt his body responding to subliminal messages. Dammit, she got him hot-and she wasn’t even trying! Lord help him if she ever decided it would be to her advantage to seduce him, Shane thought, disgusted with this unusual lack of self-control.

They were seated at one of several tables that occupied the inn’s large, elegant dining room. Apparently Captain Dugan had built this section of the house during the boom years of his shipping trade, he thought, as he took in the white marble fireplace and the heavy mahogany antiques that filled the room.

Surreptitiously he studied the other members of the dinner party. Across from him sat Jayne Jordan, petite and pretty with rather funky taste in clothes. She wore a man’s houndstooth jacket over a silk-and-lace camisole. Opposite Faith sat her other friend, Alaina Montgomery, all cool poise and designer labels.

The women made an interesting trio, Shane mused as he absently raised a forkful of salad to his mouth and began to chew. His eyes widened as his teeth stopped working in midchew. He glanced at the other two women seated at the table. They both wore similar looks and had frozen with their forks lifted halfway to their mouths.

At the other end of the table Alaina Montgomery swallowed first and delicately dabbed at her lush mouth with a rose-colored cloth napkin. “Onion salad,” she said with a hint of humor in her husky alto voice. “Is this a new recipe, Faith?”

Faith took in the expressions of the other adults at the table. What had she done to the salad? As everyone watched her expectantly, she took a bite of hers and choked.

Lord, she’d thrown the entire chopped onion into the bowl!

“Sorry,” she said, shooting Shane a look that mixed amusement with annoyance. “I guess I was a little distracted in the kitchen tonight.”

“Any other surprises we ought to know about?” he asked, one dark brow crooking upward as he took the bread basket she thrust at him.

“I laced your coffee with arsenic,” she said sweetly.

He barely managed to keep his laughter locked in his chest. His eyes sparkled with rare good humor. “How thoughtful of you.”

“What’s arsnip, Mama?” Lindy asked, pausing in her game of stir-the-peas-on-the-plate.

“That’s something we give to very special guests, like Mr. Callan,” Faith said, her expression deadpan.

Something about him just brought out the devil in her, she thought, as she leaned over to cut her daughter’s meat. She had never teased William that way. Of course, expending emotion on William Gerrard had been a wasted effort. She had learned that early on in their marriage.

What William had wanted from her had nothing to do with emotion. That had been a very unpleasant reality for a young woman who had a wealth of love inside her. For a long time she had waited and hoped and prayed he would change, that she could change him, but over and over her love had been tossed back in her face. Her husband hadn’t had the time or the capacity to love another human being. His hunger for power and money had overridden that.

“Gee, Mom, I think I’m grown-up enough to cut my own meat,” Shane said dryly.

Faith jerked her head up, her startled gaze colliding with his. Out of habit she had sliced Lindy’s roast, then her own, and had somehow ended up with her knife on Shane’s plate. Her breath stuck in her throat as she stared at him. Lord, he was good-looking, and he was definitely grown-up enough to cut his own meat.

Managing to scrape together some bravado, she sat back and gave him a sassy look. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were housebroken.”

“Heck, yes, ma’am.” He sent her a dazzling smile. “I’m potty trained and everything.”

“What a pleasant surprise,” Faith commented, fighting to keep a straight face. She refused to be charmed by a man who thought she was a criminal.

“Don’t take it personally, Mr. Callan,” Jayne Jordan said, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she looked across the table at him. She tossed her mane of auburn hair over her shoulder as she shot a teasing grin at her friend. “Faith is hyper-maternal. She’ll probably try to button your coat up for you too.”

Shane couldn’t stop the fleeting image of Faith unbuttoning his clothes. Stabbing a chunk of beef, he cursed his suddenly rebellious libido.

“I’ll try to stop myself short of spitting on my fingers and combing your hair,” Faith pledged.

“Gee, thanks.”

As everyone settled into the task of devouring the excellent meal, Shane focused his attention on work. This case was a far cry from what he was accustomed to, but he was determined to do the job right. He had already been on the phone chewing out Banks about the shoddy background work that had been done. If he had been a few days later in getting here, the place would have been crawling with suspects. Faith Kincaid and her DataScam testimony might have been lying at the bottom of a cliff, shoved off by a supposed guest of the Keepsake Inn.

“What will you tell your guests when you call to cancel their reservations?”

“Nothing,” Faith said with false calm as she buttered a dinner roll. “I’m not going to call them, because I’m not going to cancel.”

“Yes, you are,” Shane said, carefully enunciating each word for emphasis. He leaned toward her, trying to intimidate her with his size as well as his cool stare.

“No, I’m not,” Faith said just as clearly. She leaned forward as well, a dizzying rush of adrenaline surging through her as she met his challenge. It was a heady feeling, one that walked a fine line between anger and passion. As she looked up at him, she felt herself teetering on that line.

“Faith,” Alaina said cautiously, “if Mr. Callan thinks-”

“If Mr. Callan thinks, I’ll consider it a real bonus for my tax dollar.” She could see a muscle jerk in his strong jaw, but the warning didn’t stop the recklessness he inspired in her. “Canceling my grand opening isn’t any more necessary than Mr. Callan’s presence here is.”

Tension sang in the air like an overloaded power line as brown eyes warred with gray. Faith thought she could feel the heat of his rising temper rolling off him like steam.

Lindy, happily oblivious to what was going on between the adults at the table, picked up the oddly shaped bun on her plate and held it out toward Shane. “Lookit,” she said, giving him her shy smile. “I made it all by myself.”

The anger drained out of Shane as Faith Kincaid’s little daughter caught his attention. What a heart stealer. So sweet, so innocent. When was the last time anything that pure and good had come within ten feet of him, he wondered.

Giving the bun a serious look, he cleared his throat and said, “That’s very nice.”

Lindy beamed. “It’s a bun.”

Faith released a pent-up breath and ran a slightly unsteady hand over her daughter’s hair. Lindy to the rescue again, she thought with a tender smile. No telling where her reckless abandon would have landed her had she pushed Callan another step. He was obviously a man whose authority was seldom questioned. “Lindy likes to help me in the kitchen. Don’t you, sweetie?”

“Uh-huh.” To Shane she explained, “I’m gonna be a mama when I grow up.” She slid down off her chair and went around the table to present her doll to Shane. “This is my baby. Her name is Mary.”

Ordinarily Faith would have herded her daughter back to her chair with a gentle reprimand for disturbing a guest’s dinner, but she was too busy watching Callan handle the situation. Something in his expression changed drastically as he looked at Lindy. The icy quality melted from his gray eyes, all the hard edges of his face softened. He looked almost… vulnerable. He accepted Lindy’s doll a bit awkwardly, but with all the care he would have shown had Mary been a real baby rather than a hand-me-down doll with frizzy brown hair and one eye that liked to stick shut.

It hit Faith that she knew nothing about him. Perhaps he had a wife and children of his own someplace, and he was separated from them because he had to be here watching out for her. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe… maybe she was romanticizing the situation, as usual.

Oh, Faith, she sighed inwardly, haven’t you learned your lesson? There’s no such thing as happily ever after. You, of all people, should know that.

“See,” Lindy said to Shane, pointing at her doll. “She has real eyelashes.”

Shane bent his dark head down as he handed the doll back to the little girl. “She’s a very pretty baby,” he said gravely.

Lindy readily agreed. “Uh-huh. She used to be my mama’s baby when Mama was little like me.” She cradled the doll expertly in her arms and looked up at Shane. “Do you know where babies come from?”

All three women at the table stifled giggles as the super-cool Agent Callan blushed like a teenager. Even his ears turned red.

“Uh-umm-well,” Shane stammered.

Lindy gazed up at him, patiently waiting for an answer. He looked to Faith, his expression comically desperate. She offered nothing more helpful than a placid smile.

Jayne finally took pity on him and came around the table to take Lindy’s hand. “Let’s go get that pudding we made this afternoon, sugar plum.”

Her earthshaking question easily dismissed, Lindy gave Shane a look that was pure flirtation and said, “It’s chocolate.”

“Do you have children, Mr. Callan?” Faith asked nonchalantly, not willing to admit to herself that she was holding her breath in anticipation of his answer.

“No.” Shane stared at his plate, angry at feeling so unsettled. Dammit, Faith Kincaid had thrown him badly enough, he didn’t need her daughter knocking his feet out from under him as well. It was just that they seemed so… normal. And everything he had seen in the last few years had been a perversion of normal life.

“Are you-”

“I’d rather not discuss my personal life,” he said curtly.

Deep inside him was the hollow ring of derisive laughter. He didn’t have a personal life to discuss. His job was his life, because that was the way it had to be. He lived in a sort of vacuum, existing with no emotional entanglements, because emotional entanglements were dangerous to all parties involved. He had learned that lesson in the cruelest way possible.

“I’m sorry,” Faith said quietly, not sure where the words had come from. A sudden sense of emptiness ached in her chest as she looked at Shane. The pain was so sharp, it nearly took her breath away.

“Mr. Callan, how seriously are you taking these threats that have been made against Faith?” Alaina asked.

“Considering her value as a witness in the Data-Tech case, we have to take every precaution,” Shane said, glad to have something concrete to focus his attention on. “We have every reason to believe Gerrard and his accomplices will make good on the threats if given the chance.”

“The whole thing is ridiculous,” Faith grumbled. “William isn’t violent; he was only out for the money.”

“Well, you would know more about that than I,” Shane remarked dryly, his face showing nothing of the unrest inside him. A part of him stubbornly insisted she was guilty. Another part of him wanted to believe in her innocence. And everything male in him simply ached looking at her.

Where had his concentration gone? What had happened to his ability to detach himself emotionally? Faith Kincaid was a job. It made no difference to him if she was guilty or not. So why did he suddenly have this war raging inside him?

He sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh and reached inside his coat for a cigarette as Jayne and Lindy returned from the kitchen with the pudding.

“Unless you intend on eating your pudding with that cigarette, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Callan,” Faith said with as much haughty disdain as she could muster. “This dining room is a smoke-free environment.”

Shane stared at her, nonplussed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid she’s not,” Alaina said, rising from her chair with a wry smile. “Come along, Mr. Callan. We’ll banish ourselves to the front porch.”

Outside the evening had turned a darker shade of gray. The lights that flanked the double doors created a small pool of warm light on the porch. Shane automatically shunned it in favor of a darker spot with a sweeping view of the grounds, where he could put his back to the wall and maintain a cautious vigil.

“Where were you practicing law before you came here?” He lit Alaina’s cigarette for her and waited for an answer he already knew. Banks had hurriedly scraped up facts on Alaina Montgomery and on Jayne Jordan, a film critic who had been based in LA until two months ago.

“ Chicago,” she said on a stream of smoke.

“Strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Shane lit his own cigarette and took a long, deep pull on it. “That you were living in the same city as DataTech headquarters.”

“Life’s funny,” she said, but her tone held no laughter.

“What made you give up a lucrative practice and move out here?”

“I was burned out.”

She wasn’t telling him everything, but then he’d known she wouldn’t. Alaina was a woman who gave away only what was absolutely necessary, automatically holding facts in reserve. He didn’t envy anyone going up against her in a courtroom.

As she looked up at him, Shane recognized something in her direct, measuring gaze-cynicism, wariness; two of his own best friends.

“I didn’t ask you out here to discuss the vagaries of fate, Mr. Callan. I want to talk about Faith.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t want to see her hurt-either by William Gerrard or you.”

“Do you want to see her dead?” he asked point-blank. He could see the question confused her for only a split second; then her mind put together the same puzzle pieces his had.

She laughed, seemingly amused by his deduction. Almost admiringly she said, “My, you’re a bastard.”

“I’m a realist.” He picked a fleck of tobacco off his tongue, his eyes never leaving Alaina’s. “You came here about the same time Faith did. You obviously ran with a flashy crowd. No reason you couldn’t have known the DataTech big shots.”

“What’s my motive for killing my best friend?” she asked, obviously intrigued by his theory.

“Money is always a nice neat one. Lord knows there’s a load of it to be had in the defense contracts game-honestly or otherwise. Greed is a great motivator.”

“Don’t I know it,” Alaina said, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

She was silent for a moment as she finished her cigarette and ground the butt out on the porch railing. She gave Shane a long, measuring look. “My friends and I moved here because we needed a change of scenery. We all came to a crossroads in our lives and decided to take the same new path. I wouldn’t hurt Faith or Jayne if you held a gun to my head. We’re friends; we care about one another.”

“And look out for one another?”

“Faith needs someone to look out for her. In spite of everything she went through with Gerrard, she’s too trusting.”

“And you’re not?”

“No. I don’t trust people, and I don’t romanticize their motives. If you hurt her, I’ll see that you pay for it.” She gave him a shrewd smile. “As you guessed, I have some very influential friends.”

“Why would I hurt her?” He dismissed her threat. A man who had nothing, had nothing to lose. “I’m here to see she doesn’t get hurt.”

Alaina’s gaze was steady and as cool as the fog that surrounded the house. “Then we won’t have a problem, will we?”

Shane tossed his cigarette off the porch as he watched her saunter toward the front door. More amused than angry, he asked, “Who appointed you watchdog?”

She tossed him a saucy look over her shoulder. “It’s a self-appointed role. I’m the only Doberman in the pack.”

“Somebody should call Clint Eastwood,” Jayne said as she carried plates into the kitchen, “to tell him this Callan guy has his voice.”

Faith’s smile was distracted and halfhearted at best. Jayne gave her a little nudge. “You do it, honey. I’ve been on Clint’s bad side since I told a few billion people his last movie wasn’t worth eating stale popcorn for.”

Faith stepped aside from the dishwasher and leaned back against the counter, hugging herself and fighting back tears that had been threatening for hours. She felt as if all her emotions were suddenly ganging up on her, and Jayne’s attempt to lighten the mood only made her feel worse.

“Hey,” Jayne teased gently, though her eyes were full of concern. “Don’t worry about Clint. He’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t think she’s upset about Clint,” Alaina said as she walked in. “It’s our own real-life version of Dirty Harry, isn’t it?”

The last subject Faith wanted to discuss was Shane Callan. Nor did she care to go into the strange emotions he drew out of her, charming her one minute and accusing her the next. She decided instead to focus on the reason Callan was there, which was equally unpleasant but easier to understand.

She gave her friends an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to involve the two of you in any of this trial business. I’m sorry.”

Jayne slid an arm around Faith’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Honey, what’s the use in having friends if you can’t depend on them in a crisis?”

Alaina crossed her arms in front of her and nodded decisively. “She’s right.”

“Thanks,” Faith murmured, wiping a tear from her lashes.

It had been years since she’d had the solid support of her friends. During her marriage to William she had had no one to depend upon except herself. Now Alaina and Jayne were offering her their shoulders to lean on, and she felt torn between the desire to accept and the ingrained habit of handling her troubles herself.

“I really wanted to believe I’d left everything associated with William behind when I left Washington,” she said, shaking her head in dismay. “Now I’ve got a federal agent skulking around.”

“Look on the bright side.” Jayne winked at her. “At least he’s not hard on the eyes.”

That was a fact, Faith thought. It was a fact that made her feel distinctly uneasy. There was something vitally, basically male in Shane Callan that all but reached out and touched the most feminine parts of her. Just the thought of his hard, aristocratic good looks was enough to send heat rushing under her skin. He was making her crazy. What was she doing feeling attracted to the man, knowing what he thought of her?

“He does a hell of a job of fraying nerves, though,” Alaina concluded.

Jayne gazed off into space. “He does seem rather hostile, doesn’t he? I wonder what motivates that feeling,” she said, trying to dissect Shane’s performance as if he were a character in a movie. Her brow knitted. “He could be out of touch with his aura.”

“Aura my Aunt Sadie.” Alaina sniffed. “He’s a cop. The attitude is a prerequisite for the job.” Dismissing the topic, she turned toward Faith. “Call it a night. Jayne and I can take care of the kitchen. Go read Lindy a bedtime story or something.”

Faith turned to dump her leftover onion salad into the trash. “She’s already asleep; she wasn’t feeling well. Besides, I can’t leave you two to handle Robo-Cop alone, when I’m the reason he’s here. Where is he anyway?” she asked, swearing to herself it was only idle curiosity that made her ask, not unbridled lust.

“On the porch.”

“Shane Callan,” Jayne mused dreamily. “With that name and that voice and those looks, it is a crime against humanity that he hasn’t found his way to Hollywood.”

“I only wish he hadn’t found his way here,” Faith complained, fanning herself with a pot holder as her hormones threatened to riot.

“Your safety is important,” Alaina said, shaking a serving spoon at her. “And not only to the Justice Department. If they think there’s some reason to assign you protection, then you ought to accept it.”

“They’re overreacting,” Faith insisted.

“Are they overreacting or are you underreacting?” Jayne questioned gently. “Honey, no one could blame you for not wanting to believe your life is in danger.”

Faith twisted the pot holder in her hands. “I don’t know anymore. The trial is a month away yet. I’d rather not think of it at all, but now I’ll be reminded of it every time I turn around and find Eliot Ness watching me as if I’m public enemy number one.”

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?” Jayne gave a half laugh, then made a stern face and propped her hands on her hips. “Shane Callan-he’s not just a man, he’s an adventure.”

Even Faith managed to laugh. Maybe Jayne was right in trying to find a lighter side to the situation. It was absurd for a federal agent to suspect her of wrongdoing. She was the most ordinary of women. Her needs were simple, she aspired to nothing beyond being a good mother. Yet this cynical, world-weary cop was watching her with an eagle eye. The joke was on Shane Callan.

But Shane Callan wasn’t laughing when he burst in the back door of the kitchen. His gun wasn’t laughing either. He pressed the nose of it to the head of the frazzled gray-haired man he shoved into the room ahead of him. Faith and Jayne both shrieked and jumped as Callan roughly spun the man around and slammed him back against the kitchen wall, causing three copper molds to clatter to the floor.

“Who the hell are you, and what the hell were you doing under that window?” Shane growled the words in the older man’s face.

The old man sputtered right back, though he was in no position to make demands. “Let me go, ye sly devil!” he ordered in an oddly lilting voice. “Who do ye think ye are, wavin’ a gun about!”

Shane’s fist wound tighter into the knot of fabric he clutched beneath the man’s bearded chin. “I’m the man who’s going to make you very unhappy if you don’t start answering questions.”

The control on Faith’s temper snapped like a toothpick when she realized whom Shane was holding at gunpoint. Furious, without a thought as to what Callan’s reaction would be, she stormed across the room.

“For Pete’s sake, put that gun down before you hurt someone! That’s my caretaker you’re assaulting, you overgrown bully.”

Shane loosened his hold on the man’s dirty brown work jacket and half turned to glare at Faith, lowering his pistol as he did so.

“Give me that,” she snapped, snatching the gun from his slack hand. “You obnoxious jerk! You can’t just bust into my home with guns a-blazing like some kind of reincarnated John Wayne, scaring everybody half to death! You could have given poor Mr. Fitz a heart attack!”

Mr. Fitz stepped away from the wall and his captor, somehow managing to look down his hooked nose at Shane, who stood a head taller. He adjusted his jacket, which reeked of fish, like a king arranging his cloak, then stroked a smoothing hand over his shaggy gray beard.

Shane ignored the old geezer in favor of riveting Faith with a burning look. He was furious with himself for letting her take his gun. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he so off his game he could let a slip of a woman get the drop on him? Or was it just this particular woman, an annoying little voice asked him. He was acting like a green rookie, and it was all Faith Kincaid’s fault. He scowled at her.

Suddenly realizing she had his pistol in her hand, she grimaced at it as if it were a slimy dead fish and offered it back to him, holding it pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “Here. Take this awful thing and put it away,” she said in her sternest motherly tone. For added oomph she shook her finger at him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, pulling a gun on poor Mr. Fitz. He’s no killer.”

Shane holstered the pistol, an ominous frown pulling his black brows low over his eyes. Lord, she made him feel as if he were ten all over again, in trouble for throwing spit wads in school. “How was I supposed to know that? No one bothered to tell me there was a Mr. Fitz.”

Alaina stepped between them, defusing the situation with an introduction as the telephone rang in the background. “Mr. Callan, this is Faith’s caretaker, Jack Fitz. Mr. Fitz, this is Agent Callan. The government sent him to keep an eye on Faith because of that trial business.”

Mr. Fitz snorted like an infuriated billy goat, his whiskered chin set at a defiant angle. “That better be all ye keep on her, ye big rascal.”

Shane rolled his eyes and heaved a much-put-upon sigh. Half under his breath he said, “This place is unbelievable.”

“Feel free to go back to Washington to report that,” Faith said. She was still seething. She’d had it with him upsetting her household and her nervous system. A quiet life was all she wanted. “You’re not welcome here, Mr. Callan. You’re not wanted, and you’re not needed.”

“You’ve made that first part abundantly clear, Ms. Kincaid,” he said, his voice low and silky as he leaned over her.

Faith met his cool, intense stare with one of her own. Shane’s look was that of a man who could have stared down the devil himself. Perhaps he had. And underlying the anger that snapped between them like a live wire she could feel a pull, an attraction she neither wanted nor welcomed. A strange tingling raced over her skin as the moment stretched out between them.

“Faith,” Jayne called, breaking the tension. “Telephone.”

Almost weak with relief, Faith turned away from the confrontation. Her knees wobbled a bit as she crossed the room to take the receiver from Jayne.

“Hello, this is Faith Kincaid.”

“How would you like to be dead, Mrs. Gerrard?” a man’s voice questioned very softly.

Blinding, instantaneous fear lodged in Faith’s throat. She felt as if she had suddenly been encased in ice, and yet her palms were sweating as she clutched the receiver to her ear. The only thing she could think to say was ridiculous, but she said it anyway, her voice shot through with trembling threads of panic. “Who is this?”

“A friend,” the man answered, but there was nothing friendly in his voice; it held all the silky menace of a viper, dark and evil. “A friend who thinks it would be better if you didn’t testify, because I’d hate to have to kill you.”

For a long moment Faith listened to the silence after the soft click on the other end of the line. Finally she hung up and turned slowly to face the other people in the room. If she had felt weak before the call, she felt faint now, and she knew she had turned as white as the kitchen appliances. She was certain no one could feel as cold and terrified as she did and still have a red blood cell left in her body.

Everyone in the room stared at her, their faces grim with worry. They seemed miles away, even though they were in the same room.

She didn’t turn to her friends. Her gaze went directly, instinctively to Shane Callan and locked on him desperately, as if she could somehow draw strength from merely looking at him. Faith didn’t question her reaction; fear had stripped away the ability to question and reason.

Managing to draw a shaky breath into her lungs, she said, “It would seem I was a bit hasty in saying you aren’t needed here.”