Dead Ringer (20 page)

Who was in the house? Where were they? She headed for the dining room, hoping for some indication of everyone's whereabouts. The smell of hot coffee turned her stomach, but no one was there, so she didn't have to pretend to an appetite.

She glanced around the hallway, then back to the empty dining room. Where was Victor? Marian? Silver chafing dishes marched in a row down a sideboard along with plates and silverware. It was late. Was breakfast over?

As if on cue, Grisha rounded a corner, saw her in the entryway, and stopped.

"You are looking for something?" He loomed over her, voice bass deep, accent thick, face twisted in a scowl as though he knew she had no right to be at the ranch.

Disregarding his frightening expression, she tried out a smile. He was a man after all. "Victor. Do you know where he is?"

But Grisha was impervious; the scowl remained. "In the morning Mr. Borian works."

"I see." She held on to her patience, but only just. "Very clever of him. Where exactly does he do this... work?"

"Office."

"Ah, the office. Good." She waited for him to leave, but he only stood there, a giant redwood rooting through the floor. "Thank you," she added.

"You know where is it?" He started to show her, but she held up a hand. The less she saw of Grisha the better.

"I can find my way. Thank you."

She turned around feeling the bodyguard's eyes bore into her back. The encounter had overridden whatever good the shower had done, and now her head pounded in earnest.

When she got to Victor's office, the door was closed. She knocked.

No answer.

Keeping a careful eye out, she opened the door a crack. "Victor? Are you there?"

Silence. She poshed the door open farther, peeked in. The room was empty. She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

How long until he came back?

She didn't know, but she wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

Ignoring the mounted deer heads that seemed to track her every move, she did a quick scan of the roomy log interior with its wrought-iron lamps and large fireplace whose stone facing climbed to the roof. In the center, a chunky pine desk dominated the space, Early hunter-gatherer. God, whoever had done the decorating should be shot, stuffed, and strung up along with the deer.

It took less than thirty seconds to search the walls for a safe, but it felt like thirty years. Her hands shook as she ran them under picture frames, behind bookcases, under furniture. Her ears strained for the sound of approaching feet, and she kept looking over her shoulder at the door. In the end, though, she didn't find a safe. That left...

She glanced at the desk, then at the door. How much longer could she remain undetected?

With a deep breath, she approached the desk and rummaged quickly through the surface and all the drawers. She didn't find a safe, but she did find a few other interesting things. She stared at Victor's PalmPilot and at the strange leather journal she'd found hidden in the back of the bottom drawer.

Don't do it, party girl

But she paid no attention to the warning. In a rush, she slid the electronic device into her pocket and stuffed the book at her back underneath her sweater.

You 're an idiot.

I know.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she raced to the door, opened it, and yelped, the breath whooshing out of her body.

Victor.

Looking as stunned to see her as she was to see him. But not for the same reason.

"My God," he whispered. "For a moment, I thought..."

The rest of his words hung between them as though they'd been said aloud.

He thought his wife had come back.

Heart racing so fast it could have taken off without her, she reached desperately for the icy calm of the night before. For that other Angelina, the one that was also Carol.

She touched his face. "Are you all right?"

He took her hands and holding her at arm's length, scrutinized his wife's clothes. "You look..." He swallowed and gave her a shaky smile. "You look spectacular. Thank you." He pulled her toward him in what would have been a tight embrace, but she inserted her arms against his chest to put distance between them. Then she leaned against the closed office door so he couldn't get his arms around her and feel the book at her back.

"I'm glad you're pleased." She fingered the ascot at his throat and looked deep into his eyes. "I want to please you, Victor." God, she could wash her mouth out with soap.

"You do. More than I can say." He stroked her cheek and gazed at her fondly, then seemed to realize where they were. "But whatever are you doing here?"

Liquid fear shot through her, but she forced a smile on her face and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Looking for you, of course." She tucked her arm through his. "I thought we might have breakfast together."

"Did you?" He looked down at her indulgently. At least she hoped that expression was indulgent and not predatory. "I had breakfast hours ago, sleepyhead."

She turned her mouth into a little-girl pout. "Have a second cup of coffee then."

He laughed and tweaked her nose. "You are a little temptress, and I wish I could. But I've things to do this morning."

She tugged him away from the office. "Do them later. After coffee." She stroked his arm and turned on the full wattage of her smile. "Please."

How could he refuse? He didn't. "All right, my dear. Sweep me away."

"Oh, I intend to." She snuggled closer. "Don't forget you promised me a tour of the ranch today, and I always hold handsome men to their promises."

Head on his shoulder, she led him away from the office.

CHAPTER
11

It was nearly two in the morning before Angelina appeared at the mine. "You're late," Finn said. He'd been pacing since midnight, cursing and trying not to panic.

She slumped against the rock wall, eyes closed. "Last night Victor caught me coming back."

A buzz of alarm started inside him. "And the fallout?"

"Nothing. I handled it. But tonight I wanted to make sure he was asleep before I left."

Her posture looked ragged and her voice lacked its usual fight. He pointed the flashlight closer to her face to get a better look at her.

His heart tap-danced beneath his chest. Christ, he couldn't even look at her without hyperventilating. Forcing the breathlessness away, he examined her closely, glad to see she wore dark clothes as he'd instructed, her head covered by the same dark scarf she'd worn the night before. But she seemed even paler than usual and though her eyes were closed, the minute the light hit her face, she raised an arm to ward it off.

"Cut the lights, Sarge. I'll talk. I swear."

He shifted the
light, but only a fraction. "Are you sure tilings with Borian are okay? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing a little vodka and tonic wouldn't fix." She gave him a wan smile, eyes still closed.

"Feet okay?" He shone the light down to her shoes, which accomplished what she'd asked.

"Fine." She lifted a pant leg to show him. "This time I wore these amazing things called socks. So they're fine. I'm fine. Everyone is fine."

"Borian didn't give you any trouble about them?"

"Believe me, my feet were the last thing Victor noticed today."

The alarm started clanging. "Why? What happened?"

Straightening her shoulders, she pushed off the wall. "Look, I've had more fresh air in the past two days than I have had in the past two years. Not to mention the exercise. I'm tired. Are we going to do this here or back there?" She nodded in the direction of his camp. "Either way, I'd like to sit down."

He peered at her as closely as the light would allow. She did look tired. And sounded cranky. "Sure. But brief me on the way."

She started to follow him, but the flashlight only lit the path ahead and she stumbled a few times. Finally, he took her hand, pulling her close to him.

It felt good to have an excuse to touch her, and to feel the warm solidity of flesh and bone. Her fingers fit nicely in his, smaller and finer. Womanly.

Automatically, his mind raced to other parts of her, parts that were equally smooth, equally fine, and equally feminine. Had Borian discovered them for himself? A line of anger, like a lit fuse, raced through Finn and he misstepped.

"She grabbed his arm with her other hand. "You okay?"

Not as long as she was around. "Uh-huh. The damn ground is filled with stones." He made himself remember why they were here, and it wasn't for a game of touchy-feely. "So what happened with Borian?"

"Oh, he had me wear his wife's clothes again, like I'm his own personal real-live Barbie. And then he took me on a tour of the ranch."

'That's it?"

"That's it? Jesus, Sharkman, do you know how big ten thousand acres is? We were gone all frigging day and I still didn't see everything. I even had to hunker down on the ground and eat lunch out of a wicker basket."

"Torture."

"You have no idea."

"Fill me in."

"Did you know the property includes a small gorge called Russell's Canyon? One wrong move and..." She used her hand to simulate a nose dive. "Oh, and Hangman's Rock is an outcropping that someone supposedly hung himself from when his sweetheart rejected him."

"How romantic," he said dryly. "Dying for love."

"My thoughts exactly." Her tone was just as sarcastic.

They reached the campsite, and he lifted her onto the sleeping ledge.

"And Marian? Did she show up today?"

"I wanted her to go with us, but Victor said she had business in town. I didn't see her all day."

That was something. The less she saw of her aunt, the better.

"So in the midst of all this ... sightseeing, I don't suppose you happened to make any progress on the other little task you're there for?"

She sighed. "O ye of little faith. Before you get your panties in a wad..." She took something from her pocket and handed it to him.

A PalmPilot.

"It's Victor's. From his office. And..." She fished under her sweater and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. "This. It's written in some kind of foreign language so I don't know what it is. But he'd hidden it away in the back of a drawer. It might be important."

He stared at the two items she held out to him, his mind careening in shock. The personal digital assistant could be a big windfall. If Borian kept his appointments and contacts there, that information alone might be enough to intercept a meet and stop him dead in his tracks. Then Angelina could go home and he'd never have to see her again, never have to smell her again, never have to touch her...

Christ. He shifted his attention away from the woman to the book she held.

He took the journal and leafed through it. The cover was warm from contact with her skin, and the heat rattled him before he ruthlessly buried it. Forcing himself back to the book, he turned page after page of what looked like old-fashioned, fountain-pen handwriting. Occasionally, pictographs and diagrams interrupted the narrative, whose language he didn't recognize, except to guess it was some kind of Slavic dialect.

He looked over at Angelina. "This is ..." He searched for the right thing to say.

"Useful?" she supplied.

"Oh, yeah," he said softly. "Very useful." Her gaze met his and for once he didn't hide his respect. "Good job, Angel."

He thought he saw a flush of pleasure steal across her cheeks, but in the dim light, he couldn't be sure. It didn't matter anyway, because she deserved the praise. She deserved to be heaped with it. He grinned. "I take that back. It was a great job."

She leaned against the rock wall and closed her eyes again, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, I thought so myself. So what do we have?"

"f don't know yet. Let's see." He bent down and turned on the electronic device. 'There's probably a password. I don't suppose you managed to obtain that, did you?"

She cracked open one eye and then the other. "I'm good, but not that good."

He let a small grin escape, but the warmth in her eyes was too potent and he forced his gaze back to Borian's computer. Without the password, he couldn't get very far. "Looks like I'll have to call in a little expertise, which means going outside where I can catch a satellite signal. We'll do that later." He set the PalmPilot aside and searched through his backpack for the tiny digital camera. "Hand me the lantern next to you." He set the journal on the ground and positioned the lantern for the optimum amount of light. Then he began snapping pictures.