Secretive Stranger

Chapter 10

Sophie woke up in the strangest dream. She was in a room she’d never seen before. A huge bay window looked over a giant maple in full fall color, its apricot leaves gilded by a blinding midday sun. The room had been decorated à la L.L. Bean. Plank floors were polished to a high gleam. The bed was big enough for Lincoln, with double-size pillows, dark sheets and comforter, and a mighty serious mattress.

The dresser looked like old oak, scarred and unique and interesting. Change was scattered across the dresser, along with a man’s belt. Glass doors led outside to a semicircular deck. She could see a single Adirondack chair on it, a pair of binoculars on the deck edge.

She pushed up on her elbows, trying to fathom where on earth she was-but that small movement brought reality crashing down on her. Pain startled her. Her whole back felt tender and swollen with bruises. Last night came back in a rush of mental snapshots. Cord finding her. Cord furious with the police. Cord locking up and feeding Caviar and hustling her into his car. Cord seeing the welts on her back, swearing, swearing more, bringing her a pill and something to drink and…

The bedroom door abruptly opened. Adding shock on shock, there was her sister, striding in with a tray.

“You,” Cate said, “are going to eat. My God, I thought you’d never wake up. Don’t worry about Pruitt. He’s in the other room, pacing around, yelling at people on the phone. As if that’s enough for all the trouble he’s gotten you into. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of him-”

“Wait, wait. How could you be there? When did you get here? What-”

“No questions for you. No stress. You eat. Then rest. And those are orders.”

She’d seen Cate and Lily both last Christmas. Cate never changed. The sisters were all blond, but Cate wore her hair wash-and-wear chopped off, and she was typically dressed in worn-out, snug jeans and a skinny long-sleeve T. Cate looked sexy when she woke up, when she went to bed, when she had the flu, when she dressed up and when she didn’t. She attracted men just by breathing. It was the way she moved, the way she was and who she was.

Cate was blustery strong, but right now she had circles under her eyes bigger than boats. She obviously hadn’t slept all night.

Sophie kept trying to grasp how her sister could be here.

“Cord actually called you?”

“Don’t waste your time making out like he’s a hero. He’s in big trouble with me. Big capital-H huge.”

“He actually called you?”

“Called. Checked the airlines, paid for an immediate flight, had a car waiting for me at Logan, and a driver waiting to take me here. And yeah, that was nice. Not nice enough to justify putting my sister in danger. But I admit, it was reasonably decent of him.”

“Good God, how many are we feeding?” Sophie asked, when she saw the contents on the tray.

“Just you. And don’t even try arguing with me.”

The tray was terrorizing. The omelet alone was big enough to feed a platoon, fluffy and pretty and stuffed with a half-dozen delicacies. Wedges of fresh fruit filled another plate. Muffins, pulled open and steaming, were dripping with melted honey.

“Now I know you’re really here. Only you can cook like this,” Sophie said, suddenly feeling a sting of tears.

“Of course I’m here.” Cate pulled up a straight chair. “I’ll give Pruitt credit for one more thing. He didn’t even blink when I told him I was shopping for real food in the middle of the night-on his credit card.

“But back to the stuff that matters. Damn it, Sophie, you should have told me how scary things had gotten. All I knew about was the guy who died, not that the situation had boomeranged into danger for you. Now listen to me. I have a contract for a job in Baja. I’ve got a little leeway on time, but really have to get it in gear inside of two weeks. So you’re going with me.”

Sophie’s jaw almost dropped, but that was a mistake. Cate motioned with a regal finger, indicating that anytime her mouth was open, food was supposed to go in. Eating was hardly a hardship, when Cate was the best chef in the universe.

“I need the money, Soph. And I have to admit, it’d be legally hard for me to break the contract, besides. But you know what? It’ll be okay. You just come with me. You’ll love it. It’s a big old luxury yacht. I talked it over with Lily early this morning. She wants you, too, but that’s silly. She’s teaching all day, while you can be with me full-time.”

“You both are wonderful. But I’m not going with either of you. I need to be here.”

Cate studied her, then sighed. “All right, then. I’ll give up the job.”

“Of course you won’t. That’s dumb.”

“You come first.”

“You come first, too. But…” Sophie gulped. “I never dreamed Cord would actually bring you here. I mean, yesterday was awful. I was traumatized times ten, talking off the top of my head about how much I needed family. But I was just having a meltdown. I didn’t mean it, Cate. I know you and Lily both have your jobs, your lives, and you can’t just take off. This’ll all get resolved. It has to get resolved. I just…”

Her voice trailed off when she suddenly saw Cord in the doorway.

She forgot the welts on her back. Forgot being trapped in the closet yesterday. Forgot just about everything…but him. He looked wrinkled and worn, as if he’d slept in his jeans, hadn’t brushed his hair in hours.

He looked so good that her heart melted like Jell-O. He’d actually gotten her sister. He’d yelled at the cops for her. He’d been caretaking her as if…well, as if he adored her. As if she were the treasure and he was her personal pirate.

“Oh, no,” Cate said, with an exasperated glance at the two of them. “No lovey-dovey crap while I’m here. You-” the royal finger waggled at Cord “-out in the living room. And you.” The royal finger motioned back to her. “You eat. While your Mr. Pruitt and I are going to have a little chat together.”

Cord had the amused sensation of being herded by a magpie. Sophie’s sister couldn’t tip the scales much past a hundred pounds soaking wet, but when it came to protecting family, she was a downright lioness.

“What in the hell have you gotten my little sister involved in?”

Cord walked past the living room, which looked as if a cyclone had blown through it, aimed for the kitchen. His Georgetown place hadn’t seen this much chaos since he’d moved in two years before. And as far as answering Cate, there wasn’t a lot of point. He’d covered the whole story when she arrived in the middle of the night.

She’d third-degreed him until well past 4:00 a.m., after which she went shopping for groceries and started cooking. Neither had had any sleep, but Cate was still pumping adrenaline. Cord took one look at the kitchen and just shook his head. He didn’t know he even had this many dishes. She was close to a one-woman riot.

Cord wasn’t sure whether to start with a broom or a shovel.

“You don’t know about Sophie,” she railed at him. “She used to be this effervescent little pain in the butt. Full of herself. Laughing, stealing all the attention, throwing tantrums if she didn’t get her way. Just a god-awful baby sister. But after the fire, when we all lost each other…you just can’t imagine. This old couple took her in. They loved her, but only on their terms. They only wanted a quiet little girl, someone who never caused trouble, never made noise. She changed. She changed to accommodate who she had to be, so she’d have a home, so she’d be loved. Are you hearing me?”

“I’m hearing you,” Cord said. He had to give her credit. She barreled into the mess right next to him. She even took on the egg-crusted pan.

“I didn’t know all that. But when Lily and I finally reconnected and tracked Sophie down again, she was a shell. All closed up. Well-behaved. Damn it. She’s still well-behaved. Are you hearing me?”

The deaf could have heard her. She was cute, Cord thought. Not as striking as Sophie. Not as subtle. Not the woman who made his heart thud and pound and race. But he wouldn’t mind if she were the aunt for his kids.

Not that he was thinking about marriage.

First he needed to keep Sophie alive long enough to ask her.

Staying alive himself might be handy, as well.

Cate took the sponge out of his hand, all but pushing him away from the sink. God knew, he was willing to help clean up. She’d been making a feast to tempt Soph. But apparently to Cate a kitchen was a kingdom. It wasn’t about work. It was about power. Who knew?

“Now, let me tell you how this is going to be,” Cate said. “I’ll get around to leaving after a day or so. If. If you make sure my sister is in no more danger. I don’t care how or why, I just want the murderer or thief or whoever’s been behind all this stuff behind bars. And as long as you swear that you’ll keep Sophie safe, I won’t even ask what your intentions are-”

“My intentions are less than honorable, and have been from the minute I met her.”

“Oh. Well. That helps some.” Cate was clearly mollified for a moment. “In spite of all this mess, I have to admit, she does seem…happier. Even a little zesty. Impossible. Even moments of silliness.”

“I take it these are good qualities?” Cord wasn’t sure.

“Damn good. But if I have to come back here, I’m bringing Lily. And believe me, you don’t want to mess with the pair of us. If you can’t get the job done, just say it straight right now. I’ll take her with me.”

Cord had enjoyed the whole exchange, but he had to get serious before it went too far. “She stays with me.”

Cate’s chin tilted up. “That’s not up to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said quietly. “She’s not leaving my sight. I’m as unhappy about her being threatened as you are. But as much as you love her, you don’t know about the people we’re dealing with. She stays with me.”

Cate took a step toward him, her eyes narrowed as if she were just warming up to a good, long, down-and-dirty argument-when both of them heard the bedroom door open. Sophie padded in barefoot, carrying the tray. Her eyes lit up when she spotted the two of them together.

“Oh, good,” she said. “I was hoping you two would have a chance to get to know each other.”

“Don’t you worry,” Cate said.

“Yeah, we’re getting along like a house afire,” Cord assured her.

Sophie thankfully believed them. Her sister being there was better than a shot of joy juice, as far as Cord could tell. The two chattered nonstop, talking at the same time, arguing at the same time, sat on his deck draped in blankets, sat hip-to-hip for a three-hanky romance movie that night.

Cord talked to Bassett. To Ferrell. To a security company. Hunkered in front of a laptop with one of his brother’s portable hard drives, then on the Net, searching for anything on the names they already had, trying to find more evidence, more information, anything new linking someone to his brother’s death or Sophie’s break-ins.

Through those quiet calls and work, he watched her with her sister nonstop. How she moved. When she winced. When she smiled. How she was doing, really doing. The caretakers-that’d be him and Cate-completely fell down on the job by nine that night, both crashing in the living room before some stupid chick flick was even halfway over. Cate, of course, hadn’t slept the night before.

Cord almost forgot. He hadn’t slept, either. And he only caught a couple hours that night, because he was up and at it after a few-hours crash.

He met Cate, bleary-eyed, at dawn the next morning. It was a meeting of the minds by the coffee machine. “She’s insisting I go home,” Cate told him.

“I think you’ve been exactly what the doctor ordered. She needed you.”

“Of course she did. Sometimes a woman needs another woman-especially a sister. But I see her laughing and all. I see she’s okay. Not-” there was Cate’s royal finger wagging at him again, even though it was a wobbly waggle before she’d had her first dose of caffeine “-that I’m any less worried.”

“I’m worried, too. Hell. I wish I were being targeted instead of her.”

“I don’t get it all. But someone sure as hell thinks she knows something important about your brother-that you don’t know. That no one else apparently knows. This has to get solved, Cord.”

“I know.”

“I’m thinking-I’ll get a flight out Saturday morning. I don’t mind leaving. As long as I can trust you.” Cate handed him his mug, took hers. “Which I do. Sort of. To a point.”

Cord wanted to laugh. Cate trusted him to the exact point he trusted himself. Sophie needed no more dangerous events. Ever. For the rest of her life.

Particularly since she hadn’t done a single thing wrong-except for being a damn fine woman with a little too much nonjudgmental kindness and compassion for others.

Like toward him, for instance.

They took Cate to the airport on Saturday morning, hit a store for food, headed back to his place. If he hadn’t already trekked into town both days to make sure the damn cat was fed and watered, Sophie would undoubtedly have pushed to return to the brownstone…but Cord knew she was not ready for that yet. Plus, he needed to fill her in on a number of things.

First, though, while he carried the two grocery sacks from the car, she volunteered to make dinner-but beforehand she wanted to take a long shower, if he didn’t mind.

He thought the idea was perfect. A shower would refresh her; then they’d have a quiet dinner…and the atmosphere would make serious talk much easier.

For the first time in days, he found himself whistling. Stupid. Nothing was solved. Everything was still wrong. But as he scooped stuff out of the grocery bag, seeing peppermint ice cream and fresh basil and the whole assortment of foods he’d never have thought to buy…it just felt good. Being alone in a house with her. His house. Just her.

That rare high mood lasted all of three or four minutes.

She’d been in the bathroom long enough, so he figured he’d bring her a mug of something. Mulled cider. It was one of the things in the bag-a half gallon of cider, and then this container of what she called mulling herbs. He got it. It was a drink she liked, hot, on a chipper fall afternoon. So he heated it all, stuck a cinnamon stick in the mug, then carted it to the closed bathroom door.

He could hear the water running full-on. His intention was to open the door, leave the mug on the counter, leave before he let in any chilled air.

The first part worked out as planned. He barely cracked open the door before fragrant steam billowed out. He reached in and silently set the mug on the counter. Unfortunately, he glanced up. Even through the thick steam, even through the distorted glass of the shower doors, he could see her.

Instead of standing up, she seemed to be sitting on the shower floor with her knees drawn up.

Smells scented the air. Something like oranges and vanilla-definitely not scents he used for soaps or shampoo. He thought…well, maybe she was sitting because she was plain old tired. God knew, she’d been through enough in the last two weeks.

But the water was beating down on her head like rain. The steam kept getting thicker, harder to see, more pervasive. If he hadn’t been spying, hadn’t been right there at that moment, he’d never have heard the choked cry escape from her throat. She so obviously didn’t want to cry.

Didn’t want him to know she was crying, either.

She didn’t hear him, didn’t see him, when he pushed off his shoes, closed the door. If he’d had a brain, he’d have peeled off his clothes. But right then, he didn’t have a brain. He felt like two hundred pounds of dumb male instinct.

Her head jerked up when the shower door opened.

“I’m okay,” she said immediately. Sophie’s favorite mantra.

He wasn’t about to argue with her. He wasn’t about to talk at all. He bent down, sat down, pulled her onto him.

“Cord…” Her voice was strangled, trying to laugh. “You’re getting soaked.”

He kissed her. Hard. Just the top of her head. Then wrapped her up so tight that it hurt his ribs. Damn shower blinded him. He didn’t care. And she tried to say something else, something funny, but then out it came. Tears like a river. Fears like a storm.

“I just keep trying to understand. I never did anything to anyone. At least nothing I know of-”

“You never did anything. Stop thinking that, right now.”

“But I keep trying to figure this out. Why anyone would hate me. Why anyone would think I’d do something to hurt them, or was a risk to them-”

“No one hates you. No one could possibly hate you. And no one’s going to hurt you again.”

“But what did I do?”

“Nothing, baby.” Hell. He’d have given anything to erase that exhausted, haunted look in her eyes. Roses. Rubies. Rivers. Anything she asked for. All that laughter and chatter with her sister had fooled him completely. He had no idea what it had cost her to bury what was really going on in her heart.

“I keep thinking about the day Jon was murdered.” When she lifted tear-soaked eyes, he brushed the wet hair from her brow. “Something must have happened, Cord. I mean, something that specific day. There had to be a catalyst, some event, something that provoked the person to kill your brother. If we knew what that was, maybe we could figure out the rest. Look. How about if we find all those people on the CDs, those women, and just give them back the darn things? We could have kind of a mass mailing. From Blackmails ’R Us. Or Ex-Blackmailers Anonymous. Or-”

Okay. He couldn’t take any more. She was trying to laugh at the same time her eyes were running with tears. She was scared when she should have been angry. Trying to make sense of something that made no sense. And all Cord could think was that she’d been through it before-her life turned upside down by circumstances she had absolutely no power or control over-so the whole mess was extra traumatic for Sophie.

Only this time, the cause wasn’t a fire.

This time, the cause was linked to him, and he hated it.

Kissing her didn’t exactly make him feel better. But it sure as hell diverted her. And if they were both going to sit there in the steaming shower, it struck Cord that this made more sense than he thought. Kissing her. Forever. With the warm water sluicing down, cleansing, soft. Her lips were slippery wet, jewels of water beading on her eyelashes, down her cheeks. Steam cloaked them in privacy.

She murmured something. A winsome cry, a song of longing.

His one arm had her nested against him, but the other traced the length of her, from collarbone to breast to abdomen to hip. He wanted to soothe, to reassure. He wanted to take, to own. He wanted to tease, to arouse.

Hell, he wanted everything. All she was, every way she was. Till kingdom come and then some.

“Cord…”

“Nothing’s going to hurt you again. Nothing. Whatever it takes, whatever I have-”

“Cord…”

“Hell. Did I hurt you? The bruises on your back?”

“Cord. The water’s turning cold. You didn’t notice?”

Of course he noticed. Or he would have. Eventually. Maybe…

He flicked off the faucets, grabbed a towel, then two, to wrap around her. Peeling off his sodden clothes took an annoying minute beyond that, and the chill of air should have cooled his jets…but didn’t.

He carried her into the bedroom, hooked around his waist, taking utmost care not to press against the sore spots on her back, but forgetting a small detail-which was to uncover her head. When he yanked off the towel, her hair was an incredibly silly tangle, but she had a siren’s smile. A Sophie smile. The wrong kind of smile, if she’d been trying to quell his mood.

His landline rang in the other room.

Then his cell rang from some coat pocket somewhere. The way things had been, both calls were likely connected to murder and mayhem.

In other words, nothing important. At least nothing important compared to Sophie.

“Don’t do it again, okay?” he murmured, as he lowered her onto the mattress, heaping the covers over them both so he could warm her.

“Do what?”

“You don’t have to hide things from me, Sophie. Not fear. Not sadness. Everybody hides stuff from the world. It’s how we protect ourselves. But you don’t have to with me, okay? No more crying in showers.”

“No more crying in showers,” she agreed.

And then she took him under. He’d thought she was tired. And low. And anxious and depressed and more or less beside herself. But in trying to carefully ease her to the mattress in a way that didn’t aggravate the welts on her back, he somehow miscalculated, because she ended up on top.

He briefly suspected she’d maneuvered it that way, but of course she hadn’t. His Sophie was buttoned up, tucked up, and especially all closed up when she was traumatized-which she certainly had been. So it had to be accidental that she ended up straddling his hips, spread so far by his width that her posture was beyond provocative. It stole a man’s breath altogether. And then she dipped down, damp hair spraying every which way, and nested kisses on his cheeks, his closed eyes, his whiskery neck, his mouth. Oh, yeah-his mouth.

She took his tongue faster than a thief, sipped and sucked, then did a wiggle thing with her hips and sank down lower.

She never learned that move in good-girl school.

She just didn’t seem to get it. Who was supposed to be comforting whom in this deal? Who was trying to show that possibly falling in love, deeply in love, problematically in love, was happening here? Right now. This exact second. For her. With her.

Later he remembered scent, sound, taste. He remembered the luring softness in her eyes. He remembered her sucking in a breath when he filled her, slow, deep, owning that silken secret core of her…remembered her opening her eyes and giving him an unexpected smile before starting the ride.

It was a smile saying “I own you.”

A smile suggesting she was about to discover things about his body that he’d never known himself.

She couldn’t have forgotten the trauma or fear of the closet ordeal, or of anything else that had happened over the last few weeks. But it was as if the now, with him, mattered more. As if the two of them together mattered more. As if she turned the switch on the negative, and poured out all the love and heat and energy that was in her…times ten.

When it was over, he was wasted, stunned by the volatility of the orgasm-and even more by the connection to her. It took a while before he found the energy to open his eyes. When he did, he found her lying there with a sweet, soft smile on her lips.

Naturally, then, he had to lean up. Give her one warning glance before pouncing. If she thought she could do that to him without retribution, well. They were just going to have to do it all again.