Secret Agent Boyfriend (6 page)

Derek put in his order, then gave her his full attention. “You’re a determined woman. I’d have stopped several stalls ago and begun working my way here.”

“If I tried all those places I wouldn’t have room for the hummus.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?”

“You might be able to consume mass quantities of sugar-and butter-based deliciousness, but I’m not quite so lucky.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Derek’s gaze turned heated as it flickered below her line of sight. “You work out often enough. Live a little.”

Her gaze traveled over his fit physique in return, the image of a male in his prime stamped in every inch of the large arms that crossed over a broad chest. “Maybe.”

“I’m serious. Have a doughnut. Eat a scoop of ice cream. Oooh.” He pointed toward an area several counters down. “Or those really awesome crepes at that stall down there are incredible.”

“I don’t eat those things. And when I do I certainly don’t eat them all at once.”

“Iron-willed control.”

Years of her mother’s sharp censure rang in her head. Patsy Adair believed a woman needed to look a certain way: slender to the point of waifishness. Landry had never quite lived up, her tall physique more athletic than her mother deemed fashionable, but she made up for it with ruthless attention to everything that went into her mouth.

“For the record, your first-date skills suck.”

Derek shrugged. “So noted.”

Their teenage waitress shot him a look across the counter while she finished filling a takeaway tray with their lunch. Landry took the tray the moment the girl set it on top of the counter. Her hands shook with subtle anger as she walked toward an empty table with her food.

She had spent her life since hitting puberty having this argument several times a day. First with her mother, then later with herself.

An Adair had to live up to expectations.

An Adair had to set an example.

An Adair had to be perfect.

And where had it gotten her? Or any of them? With a dead father, a mother who’d run off and a mysterious kidnapping that was still unsolved nearly four decades later.

Perfect? Hell. She’d settle for normal.

* * *

“I can’t seem to help myself.” Derek set his tray down but stayed standing, willing Landry to look up at him. When she finally did, he saw the misery stamped clearly in her gaze and cursed that damn streak inside him that had to tug line after line.

Landry Adair was a grown woman. She could eat whatever the hell she wanted and it wasn’t any of his business. So why had he pushed?

“Can’t help yourself with what?”

“Acting like a jerk.”

“No, you can’t.” She tore off a piece of pita and dipped it in her hummus before looking back up at him, her voice softer. “You’re an observer by nature.”

At the evidence of a softened beachhead, Derek took his seat. “So are you. You watch and notice things. You’re always thinking, and your innate intelligence has you processing the world around you very quickly.”

Surprise registered itself in the flawless beauty of her face, followed by something he could only call delight. “Since that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, I’ll consider tossing you a bone. If you answer me one question.”

“Shoot.”

“I can’t believe you care that much about what I eat. So what’s your question really about?”

On some level his question
was
about the food, but not entirely. “I’ve noticed your inhuman ability to turn down sugar and it’s made me curious.”

“Like I said. A lot is expected of me and I don’t need to eat bad food anyway.” She swirled a piece of pita in her hummus before glancing up. “So what else has you curious?”

“I asked the question because it’s tied to a bigger issue in my mind.”

When she said nothing, he pushed on. “Why do you care what anyone else thinks?”

“My mother cares, and that’s all that matters.”

“But she’s not here.”

“Oh, that’s right. She’s a killer on the run you’re determined to catch.”

He laid a hand over hers. “That’s not my wish. Not by a long shot.”

A sharp sigh whistled through her lips before she laid her food back on the plate. It didn’t escape Derek’s notice that she kept her other hand beneath his.

“She didn’t do it.” Again, that sense of something fierce lay beneath her tones, quivering in the hard set of her slim shoulders. “She didn’t kill my father.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Walk me through why.”

Landry had proved herself to be an outstanding partner while they were at the FBI office, providing him with names and dates, various family connections and a history of the Adair lineage, all the way back to her great-grandparents.

She’d even added in a few anecdotes about Kate that had him laughing and seeing his former boss and mentor in an entirely different light.

Maybe she did know something about her mother. Or could at least offer up a few strings to tug that made more sense than what he had right now, which was the simple fact that a wealthy woman had managed to vanish into thin air.

“My mother’s complicated on a lot of levels, but very simple in others.”

The comment was a surprise—not to mention an interesting place to start—and Derek felt himself pulled into the story. “She’s got a reputation for flawless beauty and high expectations of others.”

“She does. And there’s no one she had higher expectations for than my father.”

For the second time in as many hours, images of Sarah filled his mind’s eye. Their terse words that led to fight after fight. The seemingly endless tears. And the abject frustration that perpetually marred her features when he was working on a big case.

Rena Frederickson’s kidnapping had been the final straw...

“She loved him once. I’ve always believed that.”

Landry’s words pulled him from the abyss of memories, an odd punctuation to his thoughts of Sarah. “Sometimes a person is simply unable to be what someone else wants them to be.”

“Or sometimes they’re trifled with until their love changes into something else entirely.”

She slipped her hand from beneath his and reached for her bottled water. “Of course, it’s observation only. My mother would never speak of anything as delicate as her pain or her feelings.”

“Back to that public image again?”

“But of course.”

Derek had spent many years in the FBI observing some of humanity’s worst behavior. He’d thought himself well educated on how many ways humans could hurt each other. But sitting here with Landry, a light breeze whipping through the open-air market, he saw yet another facet of pain and loss.

“Do you think she loved your father?”

“With her whole heart. It’s the only reason I have for believing her innocent. Her love for him never truly went away, despite my father’s very best efforts to kill all trace of it.”

Chapter 6

L
andry curled up on the couch in her sitting room. She’d made her excuses when she and Derek had arrived home and hadn’t left her room since. A bottle of Cabernet sat, open but untouched, on her small coffee table.

She’d thought to go straight to bed, the shock of the day mixing with the bone-deep weariness she hadn’t been able to shake for weeks. When sleep proved elusive, she’d roamed the room on restless feet before sending down for the wine.

Then the wine had arrived and she hadn’t wanted that, either. So here she was. Unable to sleep or relax with a drink to think through her problems. Or the endless questions those problems churned up.

What did she come from?

The question had sneaked beneath her defenses after the initial shock of her father’s murder had worn off and had gotten louder—like a drumbeat—in the months since.

She’d been honest with Derek. She believed to her core her mother was innocent of killing Reginald Adair. But Patsy had a long line of sins since that fateful night in her father’s office, and Landry couldn’t explain them away no matter how hard she tried.

And at the top of the list was Patsy’s attempts to kill Whit’s wife, Elizabeth.

“Who did that?” The words were out before she could stop them, a harsh cross between a mutter and a moan.

Was she really the child of a woman who thought so little of another’s life she’d seek to take it? Her mother had claimed it was because she thought Elizabeth was Reginald’s pregnant paramour, but even that betrayal didn’t excuse her behavior. It only added to the possible body count had Patsy been successful in her attempts.

The knock on her door brought her up short, and Landry briefly toyed with ignoring it before crossing the room. After the wine, she’d left specific instructions not to be disturbed, but maybe her brothers didn’t get the message.

Or maybe Derek was back to question her.

Although she’d struggled with his questions earlier, it did matter to her what he thought. Of her family. And more important, of her. With the investigation into her family and their morass of secrets, Landry was fast coming to assume he thought very little.

The knock came again and she resigned herself to the inevitable questions. And promptly burst into tears at the sight of Rachel Blackstone on the other side of the door.

“Hey now.” Rachel entered, her arms wide before they wrapped around her in a tight squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

Landry hung on for another moment before she pulled back. “How’d you know I needed a friend?”

“I came for the gossip.” Rachel closed the door behind them, then pulled Landry in for another tight, side-armed hug. “But clearly I was needed for other reasons.”

Landry looked down into vivid green eyes that normally danced with amusement but were now filled to the brim with concern. “What gossip?”

Rachel couched her obvious concern underneath a bright smile and animated voice as she beelined for the wine and poured them both glasses of the rich red. “Hell yes, gossip. Do you really think it would take me very long to find out you spent the day in Los Angeles with a hot hunk of a man who Marcie Willoughby swears—and I quote—‘is so movie-star sexy he should be on billboards in his underwear’?”

“I’m... Well... We—”

“Yes?” Rachel smiled, clearly enjoying herself.

“He’s not a movie star.” Landry managed to get that out, her only coherent thought as her imagination stubbornly stuck a picture of Derek in his underwear in the forefront of her thoughts.

And it was a really good picture. Amazing, really.

“So who is he?” At what had to be a blank stare, Rachel pressed on. “The non-movie-star underwear model.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Those green eyes softened once more, the humor fading in the reflection of true and lasting friendship. “Try me.”

Long minutes later, after Landry had outlined all the reasons Derek had arrived at Adair Acres, she was left with one last, lingering piece of the story.

Rachel refilled both their glasses. “So he’s here to investigate your mother?”

“Among other things.”

Rachel’s eyebrows rose over her glass of wine. “There are other things? Besides your mother freaking out and fleeing the country?”

Landry took a deep breath and leaped.

“There’s suspicion that Noah is really my older brother, kidnapped as a baby.”

“Noah?” Color drained from Rachel’s normally bright, vivid features. “Kidnapped?”

“I don’t want to believe it. And I’ve told Derek there’s no way it could even be possible. Who steals a baby from one woman to give it to another? Which is what it amounts to if he’s really my father’s son raised by my father’s sister as her own.”

“But kidnapped?” Rachel set her glass on the coffee table, and Landry didn’t miss the subtle shake of her best friend’s hands. “News like that will devastate him.”

“Rach? You okay?”

Landry watched as her friend visibly pulled herself together. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Rachel’s initial shock faded as if it never was, morphing into a stoic mask of concern and friendly support.

“Have you told Noah what you suspect?”

“We can’t.” Again, that heavy weight of suspicion pulled at her with thick, clanking chains of guilt.

“Why ever not? You can’t really think Noah’s a part of what happened to your father?”

“Of course not. But if it’s remotely possible Noah is Jackson Adair, then his mother becomes chief suspect number one.”

“Your aunt Emmaline? A kidnapper?”

Landry swirled her wine, the reality of Rachel’s question not lost on her. Her aunt had never seemed like a very strong person. She wore her wealth and privilege like a shawl, rarely taking it off. It hardly seemed possible the woman would have had the means or the wherewithal to kidnap any baby, let alone her own brother’s child.

“I know it does sound crazy. Which is why we have to be absolutely sure.”

“So how is Derek getting around the property and asking questions?”

Landry braced herself for the fireworks. “He’s pretending to be my boyfriend.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, bright green orbs flashing with surprise and—if Landry wasn’t mistaken—ribald good humor. “You can’t be serious. Are you sure he’s not really a movie star and this isn’t some zany fifties sex comedy?”

The heavy weight of the day—heck, of the past two months—lightened at the humor she saw in her best friend’s eyes. “It does smack of elaborate drama, doesn’t it?”

“In spades.” Rachel reached for the wine once more, filling them each up and finishing off the bottle. “I guess that means you’re going to need to play this whole relationship up.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Landry nearly bobbled her glass as Rachel’s words sank in.

“It means you need to get sassed up, get that gorgeous man on your arm and get yourselves out on the town.”

“Town isn’t the problem. Whatever we’re dealing with is here at Adair Acres.”

“Very practical.” Rachel nodded, but Landry didn’t miss the twinkle in her eyes. “Let me ask you another question.”

“What?”

“Do fake boyfriends come with fake kisses, too?”

* * *

Light breezes blew in from the coast, cooling the valley with that unique blend of sea air and moisture that was so specific to California. Mark punched in the stable code he’d secured from that washed-up track master in LA and stepped into the barn. The stink of animals filled his nose and he held back the urge to gag. He’d be on his way shortly.

The various snorts and whickers of the horses whistled past his ear as he walked the length of the stalls, and he pushed hard against the faint sense of discomfort at their size. He just kept reminding himself they were locked in stalls. Four-legged beasts.

Four-legged
thoroughbred
beasts, of course.

Just like Landry Adair.

He’d known it the moment he’d seen her. Long, coltish legs on a ruthlessly perfect body. Pristine blond highlights she no doubt kept regular appointments for. Cool, assessing blue eyes that could turn a man on or shrivel his parts, depending on what mood she was in.

Oh, yes, Landry Adair was a prize.

He’d kept his ear to the ground and knew Winchester was on the Adair property to work a case as a favor for his old boss. He might be on leave, but the brass would jump for good old Lady Kate, yes siree.

Mark had actually been grateful when he’d realized there was a project afoot. Derek had been up his damn ass, asking about the status of the Frederickson case since he’d been put on leave. Daily updates. Calls at odd times to share a theory on the signs they must have missed, which was why they’d never found Rena. He’d even sent a series of emails with theories he was working on.

Derek and his questions. The bastard was full of them.

Mark, did you file that report?

Mark, did you do that background check on the runaway’s family?

Mark, did you know the perp was unarmed?

A hard shot of fury whipped through him like brushfire, and Mark pushed it back. He’d set the perfect trap, and soon it would all be over.

Derek would get his.

And Mark would have his position at the Bureau and his happy ever after with Sarah.

A win-win, in every way.

In the meantime, the former veep had conveniently given him a bit of breathing room and Mark was sure he wasn’t going to squander it. Since Derek’s visit to FBI headquarters hit a little too close to home, he figured it was in his best interest to get down here and create a bit of a diversion.

Mark kept his steps light, his gaze taking in the lush stalls and the signs above each. Feeding timetables. Riding schedules. Vet visits. All the responsibilities that went into managing a barn the size of the one at Adair Acres were divided up across various members of the household and staff.

The cloth bag grew heavy and he shifted it to his other hand, another layer of distaste coating his mouth with harsh metal.

He could do this. And he would do this.

It was just one more step in the destruction of Derek Winchester.

His gaze scanned the boards next to each horse’s stall, and he’d nearly cleared the length of the stable when he finally came upon the name Pete. The notes for this horse indicated he had an early-morning ride with one Landry Adair.

Perfect.

Mark made his way to a wall of built-in containers a short length down from Pete’s stall. Each was marked with a different horse’s name, and he lifted the lid for Landry’s horse, slipping it aside. A heavy metal bin sat inside the enclosure, about half full of oats and whatever else horses ate.

He was careful as he worked the top of the writhing cloth bag in his hand, settling his bundle gently on top of the mix of oats. The light shake of a snake’s rattle broke the hush of the barn, where it echoed off the metal walls of the can and Mark stood back as the sleek body wove its way out of the thick canvas.

The rattle echoed again, louder this time when the snake bumped into the metal edge of the feed can. Despite his fascination, Mark took a quick step back and closed the lid on the mesmerizing display, deliberately leaving the wood frame slightly askew. His thoughts had already drifted to the surprise that awaited the first person who reached into the can for the horse’s feed.

He could only hope it was Landry Adair.

* * *

Derek fought the sucking gravity of memories as the nightmare pulled him deeper into his subconscious. On some level he knew it wasn’t real. Knew the cool stench of the old warehouse in downtown Los Angeles was a mirage in his mind.

But no matter how hard he willed himself to come out of it, he couldn’t shake the need to put one foot in front of the other. Step by careful step.

He only had to take the required steps before he’d find Rena and this nightmare would be over.

Rena. The young girl with the haunting eyes. She’d gone missing the month before, a runaway without any protection or anyone to stand up for her. She’d come to the attention of the FBI through one of the vice cops at the LAPD. The man they believed kidnapped her was an international drug runner with a predilection for taking young girls out of the country.

Derek and Mark had picked up the case and were working it as fast as possible to keep that all-too-common outcome from happening yet again.

The light scrape of a shoe pulled Derek up short, and he motioned Mark to take the far wall. An old door hung at a lazy angle, and when the shoe squeaked once more, Derek pointed toward the closed room.

“On three.” He mouthed the words, hardly daring to breathe and tip off their quarry.

Mark nodded and they moved through the door in unison, guns drawn.

Thin, drawn cheeks and several days of unkempt beard covered the man’s face, but the perp met the description and photos from the vice squad. Albert “Big Al” Winters. A nickname at deliberate odds with his scrawny frame and small stature.

“Hands!” Derek hollered the standard protocol and knew he needed to keep his focus on the man. But damn it, where was Rena?

His gaze flew around the room, desperately seeking some sign of the kidnapped girl, but other than an old cot and a twin mattress covered in dirty blankets against the far wall, there was no one but the scraggly excuse for a human being who stood before them.

Mark added his directive for a show of hands and Derek moved closer, his gaze drifting from the dime bag on the floor back to the shaking frame of the low-level enforcer they’d been hunting for.

“Where’s Rena?” The question fell from his lips in a harsh bark, a strange, desperate panic clogging his breath.

“Rena who?” The man was partially bent at the waist, his hands still out of sight. A creepy giggle rumbled under his question before his voice echoed in a singsongy chorus. “Rena who? Rena who? Rena who?”

Something cold and hollow filled Derek’s chest, replacing the lack of air with something else entirely. Disgust and repulsion, but something more. Something far more insidious.

Bone-deep hatred.

Derek struggled to keep himself in check, the anger a living, breathing thing inside his body. He’d worked so hard to bring an innocent home. Had followed every lead and spent hours tracing her possible whereabouts.