Dead Ringer (14 page)

He drove with grim determination, racing through yellow lights. At the hotel, he parked the car, plunged inside the building, and was in place outside the suite, when Borian stepped out of the elevator with Angelina. Rattened against a corner that allowed him to observe the suite without being seen, Finn watched as Borian guided her by the elbow, his casual but possessive grip setting Finn's teeth on edge. Angelina handed Borian the key card for the lock.

"Thank you for a very nice evening." She'd ended up with her back toward Finn, so he couldn't see her face, but her voice slid low and gentle, once again mild in a way that was completely unnatural to the Angelina he knew.

"You're more than welcome. It's the first time I've enjoyed myself in a long time." He put his hand under her chin and caressed her cheek. Finn's stomach turned over. "You're a very beautiful woman."

She lowered her head in what looked like modesty. Modesty! But the gesture also succeeded in disengaging Borian's hand from her face. "Thank you. You're very kind."

Borian used the card to open the door, then handed it back to her.

"I can see you're tired. I won't come in."

Nice of him.

"Good night." She kissed his cheek and slipped inside. Head down, eyes closed, Borian touched the closed door, palm flat against the surface as though wanting to absorb what was behind it.

A wave of dismay washed over Finn. Angelina had done a good job. Too good.

When the elevator had swallowed up Borian, Finn let himself into his adjoining bedroom and through the connecting door to the suite. If he didn't know better he would have sworn Angelina had known he was in the hallway and timed his entrance, because when he walked through she had one shapely foot perched on the coffee table, her dress pulled up past her thigh. Golden head bent over the cassette recorder she was untaping, she presented a neatly curved and wickedly desirable picture.

Her head lifted when he came in. "Sharkman!" She threw him a teasing smile and raised the dress another half inch. "You did such a good job putting this on, maybe you'd like to take it off."

He slumped into an armchair and loosened the bow tie at his neck. "You're doing fine all by yourself."

She laughed and tossed the tiny tape recorder at him. He caught it one-handed and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

With feline grace she glided across the plush carpet and sat on the arm of his chair. Too close for comfort, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of moving away.

"I don't think you'll find much of interest on it."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "He talked about his wife and how much he misses her. He told me about his ranch. Nothing about stolen nuclear material or his business, and nothing you don't already know."

She stretched and he caught his breath at the sight, her generous body supple in its curves.

"You did a good job tonight." He tried to make his voice match the compliment, but he didn't quite succeed and she must have heard his begrudging tone.

"I'll bet that hurts." Her words were harsh, but she was smiling.

He found himself slowly grinning back. "Yeah, big time."

And suddenly, they were laughing. At themselves, at their situation, out of relief that the whole absurd mess had gone well and the first step was over.

She slid off the arm and into his lap, still laughing. "This is going to work. We're going to do it. You and me, Sharkman. I know it. I
feel
it."

Without knowing how, he was looking straight into her jade eyes. Slowly the laughter died out of them, replaced by something else. Something wary and hungry. The heat of her seeped into him, languorous, enticing, and his heart started to pound.

"It's good to see you laugh, Agent Carver." She cupped his face in her hands and his mouth went dry. He ached to touch her, to run his hands through the flaxen mass of her hair. Impulsively, he pulled the pins from the knot at the nape of her neck, and the shiny mass tumbled over his hands onto her shoulders, releasing a cloud of fragrant shampoo as sumptuous as she was. He lifted the tresses off her neck, loosening them so they fell in waves and framed her face the way it had the first time he'd seen her.

"Welcome back, Angelina."

Her eyes went soft, and his control went out the window. Without even knowing he was doing it, he leaned toward her and she melted against him.

One kiss, that's all he craved. But one kiss was never enough. He kissed her again, and again, sensation whipping through him as though she were a drug he couldn't get enough of. She groaned against his lips and wriggled in his lap, sending waves of desire through him. Lost in her again, he drowned in her softness.

Again.
Memory of the other night shook him to awareness. "No!" He wrenched himself away, almost spilling her onto the floor as he surged out of the chair. "Jesus Christ, I can't spend two minutes alone with you." He was breathing so fast, he didn't think he would ever catch up.

"What are you doing?" She stumbled to regain her footing and her face went from surprise to confusion and finally to angry understanding. She glared at him. "You want me, I know damn well you do, so don't give me your self-righteous crap."

"I'm not giving you anything, and that's the problem, isn't it?" He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was a damn fool. Anyone else would take what she offered, no questions asked. "Look, I know what this is. I know this is all a game to you. I understand. I know what happened to you and I know why you do it. But damn if I'm going to play."

Her spine stiffened with injured pride and her eyes grew stormy. "What are you talking about?"

But he wasn't going to bring up Ruby again, or explain what the psych profile said about her. That some rape victims acted promiscuous in an ongoing attempt to recreate the rape, control the sexual experience, and make the outcome safe. "Someday you're going to want me for real, Angel. Not because you're on some power trip, or because it helps you forget, or makes you feel safe, but because you want
me,
Finn Carver. Until then..." He wheeled and walked toward the penthouse door.

"Where are you going?" Her voice rang out hard and demanding, a far cry from the gentle tone she'd used with Borian. The harshness reassured him. His Angelina was back.

Without turning around he took the cassette tape out of his pocket and held it up. "To take this over to Mike and Jack for analysis."

"Well analyze this, Sharkman. Borian invited me out to his ranch."

Finn stopped cold, shaken by her abrupt announcement. Slowly, he turned to face her. "He what?"

Hands on her magnificent hips, green eyes filled with angry contempt, she raised her chin and strolled up to him.

"You don't want me? Borian does. For a nice, cozy visit as long as I damn well please."

A shaft of pure ice sliced through his chest, and he realized how much he'd been hoping she'd fail.

"Congratulate me, Agent Carver. I'm in."

CHAPTER
8

As far as Angelina was concerned the weekend began on a high note when Finn stomped off to the command post Saturday morning. Good riddance to bad rubbish, her mind screamed at the door that slammed behind him.

Fine. Great. Terrific. That only left her cooped up in the damn hotel with little to do but shop for last-minute items and wait for evening when Victor was supposed to take her to dinner.

She roamed the luxurious rooms trying not to remember how she'd thrown herself at Finn. What he did to her, the way she couldn't breathe around him, couldn't think, made her stomach cramp.

So why did she provoke him? Why not just stay away? That's what he wanted. That's what they both wanted.

With nothing better to do, she got ready for Victor hours earlier than she needed to. Sitting at the suite's watered silk vanity, she iced her lips with a sweet shell pink. A strange, unsettled feeling prickled over her skin. How was she supposed to concentrate on Victor when all she could mink about was Finn?

Hands trembling, she put down the lipstick. It rolled off the table and onto the carpet, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes, trying not to remember the rush of heat his mouth had sent through her.

Truth was, she didn't want him to stay away. She wanted him to kiss her, touch her, hold her. Sex was the only power she had over him, the only way to keep safe. But so far, damn him, he refused to be controlled, refused to be handled, manipulated, put in a neat little box with the lid slammed shut.

She shuddered. Thank God, he stayed away. Thank God and all the angels.

The cold war with Finn lasted through Sunday, when once again, Victor fed her-lunch this time. She wore the last of the three outfits Smitty had copied from the snapshots of Carol Borian, a gently pleated gray skirt that fell gracefully over Angelina's knees. Coupled with a soft rose sweater set, the ensemble was the embodiment of nice-girl femininity. Victor's face paled when he saw her and then filled with a warmth that almost shamed her. He found excuses to hold her hand through most of the meal and was attentive to the point of suffocation, all of which made a nice change from Finn's wintry indifference, but also proved exhausting. Encouraging Borian without seeming to, repressing the sharp intake of disgust every time he touched her, smiling when she wanted to cringe... she was dancing on a high wire with no net below.

Both times she and Borian went out, she taped the cassette recorder to her thigh, so Firm could listen to every word they exchanged. That Victor was hooked was clear to anyone who listened. Her progress should have pleased Finn, but the more she saw Borian, the crankier Finn became. If Roper hadn't arrived Sunday night, she was sure they would have started throwing punches.

But Roper eased between them like a silk sheet. As before, he was all gracious smiles and courtly manners, making her forget in an instant his squat little body and bulldog face.

They met Sunday night at the command post where she had her final briefing. Roper greeted her like she was a beloved niece and led her to a metal chair as though it were a throne. Pulling up another seat opposite her, he almost knocked his knees into hers as he leaned forward and patted her hand.

"I hear you're doing excellent work, my dear."

Her gaze flew to Finn, who loomed over her in a half ring with Agents Saunders and Howard. Had he praised her to his boss? Hope flared, but his dark, unapproachable form discouraged it. Fine. She could ignore him, too. Or try. Too bad his nearness sent an electric current through her. She felt like a mess of live wires, all spark and jump.

"Miss Mercer is doing a great job," he said, ice-blue eyes mocking. "One she seems born for."

She flushed at the barely concealed insult, and something died inside her. God, she wanted to wipe that cold, self-righteous look off his face. "That's right, Sharkman, I'm here because you don't have what it takes to get the job done."

Eyes narrowing, he visibly tensed, and Jack put a restraining hand on his arm. She smiled.
What's the matter, Agent Carver, hit a nerve?

Roper glanced between the two of them. "Is there a problem here?"

Finn gritted his teeth. "No. No problem." Nothing except a great, big, fat something he didn't want to name. He itched to have her and hated the wanting all at the same time. Even now her scent-shampoo or perfume or simply Angelina herself-curled around him like a conjurer's trick, beckoning him closer. And while he fought his own weakness he had to stand by and watch her throw herself at Borian, who would crush her like a bug if he found out what she was up to, but not before taking whatever she gave out. Then again, what sane man wouldn't?
Except of course yours truly.
Did that make him insane? No wonder he felt as though a burr had lodged under his skin. "Everything's fine. Let's get this over with."

Roper's eyes were on him, the gaze deep and penetrating. Finn forced himself to relax, to ease the tension in his hands and shoulders, and after a long moment, Roper leaned back in his seat "So, we're all set," he said.

"She goes in tomorrow." Finn concentrated on Roper, speaking as though Angelina weren't sitting right in front of him. The less he looked at her, the less he was reminded of how much he wanted to touch her.