Medusa’s Master Page 13

  She closed her eyes as Jeff guided the car back toward their hotel, presumably watching their tail for any signs of the commandos. As he drove, he dug out his cell phone and dialed the detective. She’d bet D’Abeau was pretty ticked off right about now. The Ghost was making fools of them all with these repeated and successful robberies.

  Jeff identified himself, and through the phone, she heard the agitated sounds of D’Abeau throwing a hissy fit.

  Jeff replied calmly. “Yes, I know. The Shangri-La estate. A Turner landscape, yes? We were there. Saw the Ghost break in.”

  Even she heard D’Abeau squawk, “And you let him get away?” More shouting ensued.

  Jeff managed to interrupt the tirade with, “Can’t come in right now. My associate’s…not feeling well. We’ll come down tomorrow and make a statement, but in the meantime here’s the quick and dirty update.” He proceeded to give a brief summary of what they’d seen and how they’d chased the Ghost into east Bridgetown, leaving out all description of her circus high-wire act antics with the thief.

  She reached up to feel for her throat mike. Gone. At one point in the fight, the Ghost had grabbed at her throat and ended up with a fistful of high-tech electronics instead. It had seemed to surprise him. Enough that it had given her an opening to slip his hold and force him to the edge of that roof.

  The thought of how badly that fall could’ve turned out accentuated the nausea rising in her gut. She settled into a simple mantra. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t…

  Eventually, the interminable car ride ended and Jeff pulled up behind the hotel.

  “Can you walk?” he murmured.

  “I think so. It’ll draw less attention if I do.”

  Jeff grinned. “Either that or you’ll have to act drunk off your ass.”

  “Very funny. I don’t drink. I’m allergic to alcohol.”

  “Man, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s the surest and fastest way to get a woman into my bed—ply her with enough booze to drop her inhibitions and blur her vision.”

  Kat followed him into the service elevator and smiled up at him foggily. She reached a hand out and steadied herself against his chest as the enclosure lurched into motion. “You’re plenty pretty, big guy. No need for the girls not to be able to see you.”

  “Glad to hear you think so,” he murmured low. He added lightly, “Especially since you’re gonna be looking at this mug for the next eighty years or so.”

  She started to shake her head, but stabbing pain traveled across her skull and down her neck. She settled for grousing. “You and your Cupid’s Bolt. Thing is, I don’t play by Cupid’s rules. I play by Medusa’s.”

  “I’m okay with that if she shoots arrows of true love at her followers.”

  Kat stepped out into the soft night light of their hallway and murmured, “I wouldn’t know personally, but her track record with my teammates isn’t half bad.”

  “Give it time, darlin’,” he murmured, smiling. “Give it time.”

  By noon the next day when Kat woke up, Medusa had definitely tossed a whole bunch of arrows at her, and they’d lodged in every part of her body, radiating waves of pain. Carefully, Kat climbed out of bed and headed for the hottest shower the hotel could offer up. She stood under the steaming jets until her muscles unwound a little and the pain had subsided from excruciating to merely miserable.

  She took stock of her injuries. She had a spectacular bruise on her left hip, and the one on her upper left arm wasn’t far behind. Her neck hurt, and she was generally stiff and sore. Although she had a smashing headache, she’d didn’t have the blurred vision and piercing pain of a concussion.

  The Ghost was no doubt fine. She’d cushioned his landing to the extent that he’d walked away completely unfazed from that fall. After all, he’d fled the scene quickly enough that Jeff hadn’t been able to give chase. Or maybe Jeff had chosen not to give chase. Hmm.

  She dressed carefully and made her way out to the spread of fresh fruits and pastries Jeff had obviously ordered earlier.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked with concern.

  “I’ll live.”

  “That was a spectacular fall you took. I’m amazed you walked away from it.”

  She glanced up at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I was pretty out of it, but the way I remember it, I didn’t walk away from it.”

  Jeff shrugged as if slightly embarrassed.

  “Not used to carrying your teammates home, huh?” she asked lightly.

  That put a smile on his face. “Not unless they’re pretty drunk, no.”

  She gave voice to her curiosity. “Why didn’t you go after the Ghost?”

  “You were down. No way was I leaving you if you were seriously injured. That was a rough part of town, and there was no telling whether or not anyone would’ve come out to help you. Besides, I couldn’t take a chance on those commandos finding you while I was off chasing the Ghost. Our thief can wait. We’ll get him next time.”

  “I can’t imagine there’ll be a next time,” she retorted. “Surely, he’ll jump the first plane out of here.”

  Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. D’Abeau and his boys have the airport locked down tight. Your description is enough for them to work with.”

  She shook her head and immediately regretted the move. “He’ll change his appearance radically. They won’t recognize him if he decides to leave.”

  Jeff sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  “Now what? How aggressively does General Wittenauer want us to pursue this guy?”

  Jeff frowned. “We’ll stay on it a little while longer before we give up and go home. At a minimum, we can keep an eye on the other pieces in that catalog. If one of them turns up missing, we’ll know (a) that Viper’s theory on the collector wanting the paintings in that catalog is right, and (b) we’ll know the Ghost has cojones the size of an elephant’s and is still here in Barbados.”

  “I’m sorry I lost him.”

  He stared at her in shock. “You nearly died trying to catch him. You went above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “But I failed.”

  “You can’t win ’em all, Kat.”

  She flashed him a wry smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

  He laughed at that. “Spoken like a true Special Forces operative.”

  She fiddled with a croissant, shredding it into flaky pieces on her plate. “We may have a small problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not only did I get a good look at the Ghost, but he got a good look at me, too.”

  Jeff asked quickly, “Did he threaten you while the two of you were grappling?”

  “No. He didn’t speak at all.”

  “Did he pull a weapon on you? A knife or a gun? Brass knuckles?”

  “Nope. He fought me bare-handed.”

  “Sounds like an old-school art thief.”

  She frowned. “And that’s significant why?”

  “Used to be that art thieves weren’t violent criminals. They didn’t injure anyone in taking their prizes. In turn, the police usually didn’t shoot them. They might end up in jail for fifteen or twenty years, but they didn’t end up dead or sentenced to life in prison.”

  “And now?”

  He shrugged. “Times have changed. Art thieves won’t hesitate to kill guards or bystanders nowadays. But if this guy’s old school, I doubt he’ll come after you for knowing what he looks like.”

  “Gee. That’s reassuring.”

  Jeff grinned at her across the table. “Hey. I’ve got your back. Nobody’s killing you on my watch.”

  She smiled back at him. She knew it already, but it was nice to hear him say it. In fact, it made her feel a little embarrassed all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous. All special operators looked out for their teammates as a matter of course. It went without saying that he had her back and that she had his. Must be the blow to the head making her go all sappy and sentimental this morning. It couldn’t have a thing t
o do with the memory of his worried voice when he’d reached her, or his protective arms cradling her close as he’d picked her up, or his gentle consideration getting her back to the hotel.

  Frustrated with her train of thought, she asked briskly, “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “We need to visit D’Abeau. I did promise him we’d come in and make statements. If we hang around for a few more days and the Ghost doesn’t strike again, then we’ll head back to the Bat Cave and wait for something more to turn up on the guy.”

  She made eye contact with him across the table. It clearly galled him to think of going home empty-handed. Their kind didn’t suffer defeat easily or well. She smiled bravely at him. “Maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.”

  “In the meantime, we get to spend a few days in a beautiful tropical resort on Uncle Sam’s dime. Gotta love this job.”

  She’d spent plenty of ops in below-zero temperatures or sweltering heat, had gone for weeks without a proper bath, had crawled through slime and muck and manure and suffered about every form of misery possible for a human to experience in her work. This elegant hotel and her lethally attractive companion weren’t half bad. Not half bad at all.

  The interview—or thinly veiled interrogation, as it turned out to be—with D’Abeau took most of the day and was a royal pain. After four grueling hours of browbeating, only flashing the detective her massive bruises seemed to convince him that she and Jeff had not been the thieves themselves. Never mind that U.S. government officials had verified that Jeff worked for them and that she was who she claimed, also. In fact, General Wittenauer personally told D’Abeau he’d assigned Jeff to investigate the Ghost. Interestingly enough, D’Abeau never challenged her affiliation with Lloyd’s. She’d have to thank Michael again the next time she saw him—hopefully at his wedding to her teammate, Aleesha, later this year.

  The sun was low in the sky and Kat was tired, sore, hungry and cranky by the time she and Jeff were allowed to leave police headquarters.

  Jeff grumbled. “You hungry?”

  She replied, “Starved.”

  “Want some seafood?”

  “Perfect.” Heck, shoe leather and wilted lettuce sounded delicious right about now.

  They veered into the first authentic-looking place they came to—a pub crammed with cricket memorabilia and advertising the “Best Fish and Chips in the Lesser Antilles.”

  They ordered two plates of the house specialty, which turned out to be excellent. They spoke little. Not only were they in public, there wasn’t much to say about the afternoon’s waste of time. They’d told the truth, stuck to their guns, and no matter how suspicious D’Abeau was, their story had held up.

  Kat found herself examining every patron who walked into the bar, comparing facial features against her indistinct impressions from last night. No sign of the Ghost. Of course, if she were the guy, she’d be hiding under the darkest rock she could find and trying to figure out the fastest way off this island. Frankly, she expected he was long gone. Bankrolled by someone rich and shady as he was, surely the Ghost had access to private transportation. She grimly recalled the long row of swanky charter jets parked at Sir Grantley Adam Airport when they’d arrived.

  After the meal, Jeff asked, “How about a walk on the beach—or are you too sore for that?”

  “It would probably do me good to work out a few of the kinks.”

  And so it was they came to be down on the waterfront, reveling in the pristine white sand as the moon rose, casting a pearlescent glow across the serene ocean.

  Jeff smiled at her. “Pretty romantic, huh?”

  She quirked an eyebrow back at him. “Are you fishing for me to fling myself into your arms and kiss you senseless?”

  He regarded her much more seriously than she’d expected. He answered slowly, “No, I don’t think flinging will ever be your style. You’re more subtle than that. More sophisticated. In public, at least. I confess, though, that I am hoping you like to cut loose in private.”

  “What if I’m the world’s worst kisser and terrible in bed? It would surely suck to be saddled with me for eighty years then.”

  He chuckled and closed the distance between them, bringing him squarely into her personal space. “Most skills can be learned. At the end of the day, it’s all about how you feel, anyway. If you really care for someone and try to express that, nothing you do in bed is wrong. But if you’re worried about it, I stand ready to give you expert instruction.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” He was so close she could breathe in his intoxicating scent. Since when had sniffing some guy made her head spin like this? Maybe it was left over from the blow to her head last night. But somehow, she didn’t think so.

  He murmured, “I prefer to think of myself as single-minded.”

  “Obsessed?”

  He leaned even closer. The broad silhouette of his shoulders blocked out most of the ocean behind him. “Focused.”

  “You are tempting,” she murmured reluctantly.

  “Go ahead. Try me. I dare you.”

  Chapter 12

  Jeff held his breath as Kat gazed up at him. C’mon, baby. Take the plunge. Let go of all that self-control for just a second.

  Moving tentatively, she reached across the yawning chasm that was the last few inches between them to lay her hands on his chest. Her fingertips settled against his shirt, every bit as subtle and evocative as he’d anticipated. His entire being contracted with need. A need for more of her touch upon him. For satin flesh sliding across his, silky hair falling around them, ruby lips sipping at him…

  “You know,” she murmured, “I think I ought to bed you just to get it out of the way. Then we can both stop wondering what it would be like.”

  Bright fireworks colored by equal parts anticipation and disbelief exploded in his brain. Had she really just said that? She didn’t have to give him that invitation twice. He turned immediately to head back for their car and their hotel room. Or more precisely, his big, comfortable bed in their hotel room.

  She said earnestly, “We need to focus on the Ghost. But I’m afraid that until we both scratch this itch, we’ll be performing at less than optimal levels.”

  “Brilliant logic,” he managed to mumble. How he held himself back from falling upon her and ravishing her right there, he didn’t know. It was a close thing. No, he wanted his butterfly to come to him willingly and unfold freely beneath his touch.

  She stopped and turned to face him. Rose up on tiptoe. Reached up and twined her fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck. He stared down into her dark, dark eyes, surprised as something akin to trepidation flickered through them.

  “Don’t you know how crazy I am for you?” he whispered. “There’s nothing to fear from me.”

  And that seemed to do it. She tilted her chin up the last fraction of an inch and their lips met. Her mouth was luxuriously soft against his, and he inhaled appreciatively, tasting sweetness on her breath. Their kiss was languid, a warm and easy thing this time, the slow savoring of something rare and exquisite. Gradually, she pressed herself against him, bit by bit losing her inhibition. For him, it was torture. Talk about self-control! But he had to let her set the pace.

  Her tongue traced his lips, then ventured beyond, shyly inviting him to deepen the kiss. Groaning in relief, he accepted. His tongue swirled around hers, stroking approvingly. Her hips surged against his, and he blinked down at her in surprise. Her eyes were closed, the look upon her face rapturous in the moonlight.

  She was going to be one of a kind when they finally got naked together.

  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt, running his fingertips lightly up her spine. She shivered beneath the caress, and her entire body undulated against his. His brain locked up on the spot.

  “We’ve got to stop doing this in public,” she mumbled against his lips.

  “You’ll have to pull the plug,” he muttered back. “I can’t do it.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Thei
r smiles met and merged as they became more familiar with one another, found the best angles of approach and retreat, explored more freely with hands and lips and tongues.

  While the surf rolled in rhythmically behind them, the moon smiled down on them approvingly and a warm breeze wrapped them in the beguiling romance of the islands. Soft sand beckoned them to stretch out upon its residual warmth and succumb to the allure of the night and the moment.

  “We’re in trouble,” she sighed.

  “Why? Seems to me like we’re finally working things out the way they’re supposed to be.”

  She laughed ruefully. “Allow me to rephrase. I’m in trouble.”

  He drew back far enough to look down at her, but not far enough to break the delicious contact of her lithe body against his. “How so?”

  “You’re distracting me from being who I am.”

  “What if I’m helping you discover who you really are?”

  She stared up at him. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Why don’t we go scratch that itch and then see what you think?”

  She smiled widely. “Let me guess. In your mind that logic is flawless.”

  “And it’s not in yours? Honey, I can smell the desire on you. I can taste it. Hell, your entire body’s humming with it. Your control has been superhuman. And, frankly, so has mine. Now that we’ve proven we can resist this thing between us, don’t you think it’s time to see what happens when we give in to it?”

  That made her laugh. “I give up. Your argument is impeccable.”

  Thank God. He wasted no time heading for the new car the folks at the H.O.T. Watch had arranged for that morning. The drive back to the hotel was quiet. Kat sat, lost in thought. Hopefully, she was pondering which sexy little thing she was coming to bed in. He was just grateful that the awful tension of waiting was about to be over.

  They didn’t have to act to race through the lobby of the hotel like a pair of impatient lovers. They tumbled into the elevator, falling into each other’s arms before the doors had even finished sliding shut. Only the ding announcing their floor tore them apart, and they took off racing down the hall to their room. He unlocked the door and held it for her with an old-fashioned bow that made her laugh.