Lisa Jackson – Secrets and Desire: Best-Kept Lies / Miss Pruitt's Private Life / Secrets, Lies...and Passion (страница 19)

“So what about a phone jack to link up my laptop?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Looks like you’re out of luck unless you’ve got one of those wireless hookups.”

“Not a prayer.”

“Then you’ll have to be out of touch for a while.”

“Great,” she muttered. “I don’t suppose it matters that I could lose my job over this.”

“Better than your life.”

She was about to reply, when the baby began to cry. Quickly, Randi mixed formula with some of the bottled water she’d brought, then pulled off dust cloths from furniture that looked as if it was in style around the end of World War II. Joshua was really cranking it up by the time Randi plopped herself into a rocking chair and braced herself for the sound of scurrying feet as mice skittered out from the old cushions. Fortunately, as she settled into the chair, no protesting squeaks erupted, nor did any little scurrying rodent make a mad dash to the darker corners. With the baby’s blanket wrapped around him, she fed her son and felt a few seconds’ relaxation as his wails subsided and he ate hungrily from the bottle. There was a peace to holding her baby, a calm that kept her fears and worries at bay. He looked up at her as he ate, and in those precious, bonding moments, she never once doubted that her affair with Sam Donahue was worth every second of her later regrets.

Kurt was busy checking the flue, starting a fire in an antique-looking woodstove. Once the fire was crackling, he rocked back on his heels and dusted his hands. She tried not to notice how his jacket stretched at the shoulders or the way his jeans fit snug around his hips and buttocks. Nor did she want to observe that his hair fell in an unruly lock over his forehead, or that his cheekbones were strong enough to hint at some long-forgotten Native American heritage.

He was too damn sexy for his own good.

As if sensing her watching him, he straightened slowly and she was given a bird’s-eye view of his long back as he stretched, then walked to a black beat-up leather case and unzipped it. Out came a laptop computer complete with wireless connection device.

He glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes glinting in amusement.

“You could have said something,” she charged.

“And miss seeing you get ticked off? No way. But this isn’t the be-all and end-all. I have one extra battery. No more. Since there’s no electricity here, the juice won’t last forever.”

“Wonderful,” she said, lifting her baby to her shoulder and gently rubbing his back.

“It’s better than nothing.”

“Can I use it?”

“For a small fee,” he said as the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You are so full of it.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“You never do, Striker.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Joshua gave a loud burp. “There we go, big guy,” she whispered as she spread his blanket on a pad and changed his diaper. The baby kicked and gurgled, his eyes bright in the firelight. “Oh, you’re full of the devil, aren’t you?” She played with him a few more minutes until he yawned and sighed. Randi held him and swayed a little as he nodded off. She couldn’t imagine what life would have been like without this precious little boy. She kissed his soft crown, and as his breathing became regular and his head heavy, she placed him upon the makeshift crib of blankets and pillows, then glanced around the stark, near-empty cabin. “We really are in the middle of no-darned-where.”

“That was the general idea.”

She ran a finger through the dust on an old scarred table. “No electricity, no indoor plumbing, no television, radio or even any good books lying around.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make do and find some way to amuse ourselves.” His expression was positively wicked, his eyes glittering with amusement. That he could find even the tiniest bit of humor in this vile situation was something, she thought, though she didn’t like the way her throat caught when he stared at her, nor the way blood went rushing through her veins as he cocked an arrogant eyebrow.

“I think we’ll do just fine,” she said, hoping to sound frosty when, in fact, her voice was more than a tad breathless. Damn it all, she didn’t like the idea of being trapped here with him in the middle of God-only-knew-where, didn’t like feeling vulnerable not only to whoever was stalking her, but also to the warring emotions she felt whenever she was around Striker. Don’t even go there, she told herself. All you have to do is get through the next few days. By then, if he does his job the way he’s supposed to, he’ll catch the bad guy and you can reclaim your life. Then, you’ll be safe. You and your baby can start over.

Unless something goes wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

She glanced again at Striker.

Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with him.

Things could be worse.

Less than two hours later, Striker’s phone jangled.

He jumped and snapped it open. “Striker.”

“It’s Kelly. I’ve got information.”

Finally! He leaned a hip against an old windowsill and watched as Randi, glasses perched on the end of her nose, looked up from his laptop. “News?”

He nodded. “Go on,” he said into the phone and listened as Matt McCafferty’s wife began to explain.

“I think I’ve located the vehicle that forced Randi off the road in Glacier Park. A maroon Ford truck, a few years old, had some dents banged out of it in a chop shop in Idaho. All under-the-table stuff. Got the lead from a disgruntled employee who swears the chop shop owner owes him back wages.”

Striker’s jaw hardened. “Let me guess. The truck was registered to Sam Donahue.”

“Close. Actually was once owned by Marv Bates, or, precisely, a girlfriend of his.”

“Have you located Bates?”

Randi visibly stiffened. She set aside the laptop and crossed the few feet separating them. “We’re working on it. I’ve got the police involved. My old boss, Espinoza, is doing what he can.” Roberto Espinoza was a senior detective who was working on Randi’s case. Kelly Dillinger had once worked for him, but turned in her badge about the time she married Matt McCafferty. “But so far, we haven’t been able to locate Mr. Bates.”

“He had an alibi.”

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Airtight. Good ol’ boys Sam Donahue and Charlie Caldwell swore they were all over at Marv’s house when Randi was forced off the road. Charlie’s girlfriend at the time, Trina Spencer, verified the story, but now Charlie and Trina have split, so we’re looking for her. Maybe she’ll change her tune now that Charlie’s no longer the love of her life and the truck she owned has been linked to the crime. We’re talking to the employees of the chop shop. I figure it’s just a matter of time before one of ’em cracks.”

“Good. It’s a start.”

“Finally,” Kelly agreed. “I’ll keep working on it.”

“Want to talk to Randi?”

“Absolutely.” Striker handed the phone to Randi and listened to her end of the conversation as she asked about what Kelly had discovered, then turned the conversation to her family. A few minutes later, she hung up.

“This is the break you’ve been waiting for,” she said, and he heard the hope in her voice.

God, he hated to burst her bubble. “It’s a start, Randi. Time will tell if it pans out, but yeah, it’s something.”

He only hoped it was enough.

“Why don’t you turn in.” He unrolled a sleeping bag, placing it between the baby’s makeshift crib and the fire.

“Where will you be?”

“Here.” He shoved a chair close to the door.

She eyed the old wingback. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“Maybe doze.”

“You’re still afraid,” she charged.

“Not afraid. Just vigilant.”

She shook her head, unaware that the fire’s glow brought out the red streaks in her hair. Sighing, she started working off one boot with the toe of another. “I really can’t believe this is my life.” The first boot came off, followed quickly by the second. Plopping down on the sleeping bag, she sat cross-legged and stared at the fire. “I just wanted to write a book, you know. Show my dad, my boss, even my brothers that I was capable of doing something really newsworthy. My family thought I was nuts when I went into journalism in college—my dad in particular. He couldn’t see any use in it. Not for his daughter, anyway. And then I landed the job with the paper in Seattle and it became a joke. Advice to single people. My brothers thought it was just a lot of fluff, even when the column took off and was syndicated.” She glanced at Striker. “You know my brothers. They’re pretty much straight-shooter, feet-on-the-ground types. I don’t think Matt or Slade or Thorne would ever be ones to write in for advice on their love lives.”

Kurt laughed.

“Nor you, I suppose?”

He arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Not likely.”

“And the articles I did for magazines under R. J. McKay, it was all woman stuff, too. So the book—” she looked up at the ceiling as if she could find an answer in the cobwebby beams and rafters “—it was an attempt to legitimatize my career. Unfortunately Dad died before it was finished and then all the trouble started.” She rubbed her knees and cocked her head. Her locket slipped over the collar of her shirt and he noticed it winking in the firelight. His mouth turned dry at the sight of her slim throat and the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. A tightening in his groin forced him to look away.