Dead Ringer (19 page)

He cleared his throat and broke the connection between them before he did something he would regret. "This is good, Angel."

A slow smile spread across her beautiful face and she jumped down from the ledge. "Thanks," she said simply, holding out the tube of salve and the extra bandages as though she were thanking him for the medical help and not something else. Something neither of them wanted to name.

"You're welcome," he said. "And keep them. You may need them when you get back."

He focused his gaze back on the map rather than stare at her. Scanning the drawing, he took in the layout, trying to decide where she might concentrate her search.

"Is there a safe in his office?"

"I didn't see one. But I didn't do any heavy lifting to look for one either. I plugged the doohickey in the phone jack and got out of there."

He pursed his mouth, considering. "See if you can get back inside and poke around."

She nodded. "You don't think he'd keep the plutonium in his office? Seems a little too obvious."

"Probably is, but let's start with the obvious and go from there."

"Okay. I guess I should check out his room, too. It's next to mine."

The minute she'd said the words, Angelina wished she could take them back. His brows quirked up and the warmth she'd seen in his eyes up to now cooled.

"That's convenient," he said.

She tried not to bristle. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Me, getting close to him. Can't get much closer."

"Oh, I'm sure you could manage." She heard irony in his voice, and in his face... something else. Something there and then not there.

"What's the matter, Sharkman. Jealous?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Because you don't have to be jealous." She ran a finger lightly up his arm, giving him her best seductive smile. "Anytime, anywhere." He jerked away as though she were a rattlesnake.

"Save it for Victor."

"Oh, I will."

There it was again. That flash of anger where she' d expected delight. After all, sleeping with Victor was part of their bargain.

And yet.

A buzzer went off. His phone. He grabbed the gun he'd stashed earlier and nodded toward the entrance. "Outside. I can't get a signal in here."

"I thought you said there were no cell phone towers in this part of the state."

"I've got a sat phone. Satellite," he said at her questioning look. "But I can't link up from inside here."

She followed him out, watching the strong line of his back encased in a faded blue workshirt rolled up at the wrists. It had been a shock to see him in something beside a suit. The jeans and hiking boots softened him somehow, made him seem a different person, less of a hard-ass. At least it had up until a few moments ago.

At the entrance, he held her back and went through the camouflage thicket first. Then separating the branches enough for her to step through, he signaled her to move forward.

"Looks clear," he said in a low voice. "Patrols come by once a night, but we should have plenty of time."

Once through the thicket, he turned off the flashlight

and moved away from the mine, staring up at the sky. It was black and silver, covered in stars, the moonlight bright enough to see by.

He unhooked his phone from his waist and punched in some numbers. "Carver," he said. His glance went to her and then back to the rocky hills around them. "Yeah, she's here. Hold on." He turned to her. "Mike wants to know if you planted the bugs."

"In the dining room, the den, and the office. He should have picked up something by now."

He unfolded her map and located the rooms. "She says you're hot, Mike. You should have-"

His face hardened. "I told you... Jesus Christ, Mike, she's fucking alone in there... Don't give me that crap..." He blew out a breath. "Okay.
Okay.
Yeah." He punched out and turned to her. "There's no reading on two, one goes in and out. Useless, cheap..." His jaw tightened, and he walked away, running a hand through his hair as though trying to stem his frustration.

She bit her lip, reaching for confidence. "Look, Finn, I'll be fine."

"Why is that? Bullets bounce off of you?"

"No one's going to shoot me." She sounded more certain than she felt.

He blew out a breath and shook his head. "Not much we can do about it anyway. Look, it's late. I should get you back."

"We're not on a date, Sharkman. You don't have to walk me home."

He shot her a grim smile. "But I want to, Angel."

She didn't know if it was a sign he didn't trust her or if he was just worried about the damn blisters. The salve had helped and the bandage gave her a bit of cushion. "My foot's fine."

"Yeah, I know. And you can leap tall buildings, too." He took her arm and helped her along, letting her lean on him. They walked in silence and she tried to concentrate on something beside the two most obvious distractions, her foot and him.

"Look ... about Victor," he said.

She glanced up at his face. Big surprise. His eyes were sober, without an ounce of scorn. "Take your time. Don't push."

What did that mean? "I thought you were in a big hurry to find this stuff."

"I am. But I also want you to be careful. Don't..." He cleared his throat. "Don't rush into anything." He didn't say it, but she knew what he meant: don't throw yourself at Victor. She nearly lost her footing at that bolt from the blue, but all he did was tighten his hold on her.

"You still have the pin I gave you?"

She unbuttoned her cardigan and showed it to him, flushing like a stupid schoolgirl at his concern. "I'll be okay," she said softly.

"I know you will." He looked down at her with something close to affection. Even respect. And maybe, just maybe, a bit of regret for being such a jerk. "After all, you're the toughest guy I know."

He didn't say anything after that, but she trudged beside him in silent happiness, hugging that last look to herself.

He took her to the edge of the ranch site and she walked the final quarter mile alone, woozy from feeling so good.

Watch it, party girl. Don't go too deep with this. You'll drown.

But the night sky was gloriously huge, the stars twinkled with fabulous shine, and the moon stared down with a kind, jolly face that reminded her of Beamer. How could she be cautious on a night like this?

She was so absorbed, she didn't notice the figure in the shadow of the porch.

"Angelina, is that you?"

She jumped, her heart bolting into overdrive. "Oh, fu-for God's sake," she exclaimed, swallowing the curse her mother would never have uttered. "You startled me." That was an understatement. Mind whirling, she stood frozen while Victor Borian rose from one of the rockers and stepped out into the moonlight.

"Where have you been? I went to your room to say a last good night and you weren't there. The bed didn't even look slept in."

God, she hadn't thought to rumple the bed. She looked at the stern suspicion on Victor's taut face, and tried to think. Think.

And suddenly a cold calm descended over her, a gossamer veil cloaking her true identity. She caught a whiff of spice, like her mother's perfume, but shook it away. No time to worry about Carol's ghost. Time only to become one.

She laughed lightly, trying to appear carefree, her mind speeding ahead for an explanation. "Oh, I had such a wonderful time at the party, I just..." She threw open her arms as though embracing the night. "I just didn't feel like sleeping. I decided to take a walk."

"It's the middle of the night." Victor's voice was filled with distrust, and something more. Concern. He'd been worried.

"Oh, Victor..." She covered her mouth with her hand, hoping he wouldn't notice it trembling in the dim light. "Did I worry you? I'm so sorry. I didn't think..." Her palms were beginning to sweat and the saliva in her mouth seemed to have disappeared. "You've told me so much about the sky out here ... I, well, I wanted to see what it looked like at night."

Victor's face softened. "Foolish girl," he said, his voice a fond scold. "I didn't know what to think." Arm around her shoulders, he led her into the house. "Don't wander off alone again. Especially at night. There are cliffs and gullies out there. If you don't know your way around, you could get lost or hurt. I'll always be glad to take you anywhere you'd like to go. Even in the dead of night." He nuzzled her nose, and she giggled, hearing how inane she sounded and knowing he was lapping it up.

"Thank you, Victor. And you're right. I've been very thoughtless."

"Do you think you can sleep now?" He walked her through the maze of hallways and up the stairs to the second floor. "I'm sure Marian has something to help if you need it."

"Oh, no-I'll be fine. After all that fresh air, I think I'll fall asleep the minute my head touches the pillow."

They'd reached her room and she paused outside the door to say good night, but Victor came right inside.

"Forgive me, my dear, but I won't sleep tonight until I see you settled."

"Of course." She made herself sound gracious, but she wanted to choke on the words. Especially since his presence shrunk the space, making the bed loom huge and foreboding.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, he strode to the bed and turned down the blankets.

Not yet. Please, not yet.

"Thank you, I'll be fine now," she said.

But instead of leaving, he stepped closer and stroked her cheek. "Yes, I can see you will." He smiled tenderly. "Shall I tuck you in?"

Her heart sank. Had he hovered over Carol like this, too?

"Would you like that,
milaia?"
His voice was low, whispery, his eyes searing her face. She couldn't tear her gaze away.

"Yes, Victor."

"Ahh," he breathed, as if the answer gave him great pleasure. "Get into your nightclothes then."

As if in a trance, she slid away to gather her things, then went into the bathroom to change. Thank God, he hadn't asked to watch. Heart rattling, she slipped into the baby-blue flannel nightgown she'd bought in Helena, and for once was glad something covered her from neck to ankle.

Stepping back into the room, she saw him at the edge of the bed.

Oh, God.

He gazed at her hungrily. "You look very young, my dear. Sweet."

She felt like Red Riding Hood facing the wolf.

"Now hop into bed."

She slipped beneath the covers.

"That's right," he soothed, and turned off the light. "Close your eyes." She felt him move toward her and braced herself for the touch of his lips. But they only grazed her forehead.

"Sleep tight, precious one," he whispered.

And he was gone.

The minute the door had closed, her whole body began to shake. She reached for a glass of water, the bottle clanking against the glass as she poured with trembling hands.

Calm down. He's gone.

She drank the water and collapsed backward on the bed. That was close. Too close.

She closed her eyes, and popped them open again.

The pin.

When she took off her clothes, she'd hidden Finn's monitor in the folds. It was her only link to him, and she wanted it near.

She returned to the bathroom where she'd left her clothes and found the circle of pearls. Clutching it in her hand, she slipped back into bed and slid it under her pillow.

It took her a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

Angelina scrunched open her eyes, then shut them against the morning light. Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her temples. While she was sleeping a nasty pulse had developed in her head, and now it drummed a sharp steady beat.

Great. Just what she needed. A headache.

Then again, she'd been traipsing around in the dark pretending to be someone she wasn't, hiding the someone she was, and all the while trying not to get caught at it- that would give anyone a headache.

Before she could worry further about it, her gaze caught on the back of the door. Slowly, she cocked her head, but the image didn't change. Clothes on hangers suspended from a hook. Not her clothes. Not clothes that had been there last night. But clothes that were certainly there now.

Sliding out of bed, she padded over to them. Slim navy slacks, a soft white sleeveless sweater, and a scarlet cardigan trimmed in navy. A note pinned to the blouse said simply, "Wear this for me." Victor's name was scrawled at the bottom. She knew without being told what they were. They still exuded her faint, spicy scent.

Angelina ran her hands over the sleekly soft cashmere sweater, trying to ignore the eerie quiver at the pit of her stomach. While she slept, someone had been in her room. A maid? Victor? She looked around for signs of a search, but didn't see any. Not that there was anything to find if someone had searched, thank God. She'd gotten rid of the map and all the handy little electronic devices Jack had given her.

Except the pin. She dashed to the bed and felt underneath the pillow. It was still there. Still latched. Still looking for all the world like a pretty piece of jewelry.

Breathing relief, she glanced at the clothes on the door once more, then closed her eyes against the throb in her head. The last thing she wanted was to put on her mother's clothes again.

But she took a shower, used a restrained hand with her makeup, carefully wound her hair into the sleek chignon Carol Borian had favored, and slipped into her clothes.

For a finishing touch, she attached Finn's pearl brooch to her mother's crimson sweater. She remembered the way he'd looked at her last night. As though finally, he liked her a bit. Admired her even.

Her lips compressed, half grimace, half smile. Tonight she would see him again. The prospect sent an unwanted zing of electricity through her, part uneasiness, part anticipation. God, just thinking about that man stirred her

up-Repressing the feeling, she rose and checked herself in the mirror one last time. The heat of the shower had eased her headache, although it still lurked beneath the surface. She rummaged through her purse, found a bottle of aspirin, and downed two tablets with some Eden's Gate water.

Then she slipped out the door. Her goal for the day was the office safe and the north wing. But she wouldn't know how fast she could get to them until she scoped out the action downstairs.