Beachcomber (38 page)

“Get her, Gary!”

Gary, clearly appalled at the turn events had taken, stood valiantly between her and the patio door, his eyes as big as pizzas, his mouth agape, waving his hands back and forth in a clear—and futile—effort to ward her off.

“Not perverts … not perverts,” he kept repeating in a kind of anguished chant. In well-pressed khaki slacks and a pale blue polo shirt that did absolutely nothing for his thin frame, with his glasses slightly askew and his red hair parted on the side and brushed shiny, he looked about as formidable as SpongeBob SquarePants.

Christy didn’t even slow down.

“Move.” She strong-armed past him like a running back with the ball, making it through with laughable ease. Grabbing for the patio door handle, she jerked the door open—

“Jesus, Christy, hang on a minute! Stop!” Luke came leaping after her, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her back away from the door. “Gary, get the door!”

Knowing Angie and her friends were outside and not so far away, Christy shrieked like a howler monkey at the same moment Gary dove for the door. He slammed it shut and locked it, then he stood with his back to it, his gaze glued to her face, his expression alarmed and stupefied, as if he had just realized that, against his will, he was probably going to wind up
involved in a murder. Meanwhile, Luke, strong and steady, clearly the man who was going to have to do the actual physical job of silencing her, reeled her back toward him like a fish on a line.

Oh God, had she really trusted him? Had she really thought that she might, just might, be starting to fall in love with him? How bad a judge of men was she anyway? Like the worst ever, apparently: first a mobster, now a pervert.

“Now just calm down—” Luke locked both arms around her waist while she strained with every ounce of strength she possessed toward the door.

“Calm down my ass! I’ll show you calm down!” With the thought of how he had spied on her for impetus, she twisted in his arms and aimed a roundhouse punch for his nose. He jerked his head out of harm’s way just in the nick of time, and her fist slammed harmlessly into the air beyond his shoulder. But she kneed him, hard, even if his thigh shifted at the last minute to block the worst of the blow.

“
Ow! Shit!
Damn it, Christy, chill out!” It was a yelp. Then he whirled her around, clamped his arms around her, and picked her clear up off the floor. Kicking and screaming, trying and failing to block his progress by pushing against the walls with her bare feet, she was carried out of the living room and down the hall.

“Watch the monitors and make sure none of those damned girls comes looking for her,” Luke grunted over his shoulder to Gary as they reached the doorway to the master bedroom. Christy tried to grab onto the jamb but she couldn’t get a grip, and Luke already had
her inside the room. It was a near duplicate of her own, Christy saw at a glance as he lugged her over to the bed and then dropped her on it. She screamed, bounced, and rolled toward the floor; he hit the bed beside her and yanked her back.

“Let me go!” Shrieking, she turned on him, only to have him grab her wrists and pin them to the bed over her head before she could land so much as a single blow. She kicked at him, and he heaved himself on top of her. The sudden weight of his big body stilled her legs and crushed her into the mattress.

“Now just hang on a minute… .” His tone was that of a patient man being sorely tried.

“Pervert!” Shrieking the word, she bucked like a demented bronco. Luke, on top of her, barely even bounced.

“Jesus Christ, Christy, would you just—”

Sucking in every atom of air she could, she tried a different tack: she screamed right in his face.

Wincing, Luke transferred both wrists to one hand and clamped the other over her mouth, stifling her in full blast.

Feeling like a bottle that had just been corked, staring surprised at him over that muffling hand, Christy realized with a little thrill of frightened disbelief that she was well and truly trapped. Had Angie heard her screams? Had anyone? Heart thudding, blood racing, Christy faced up to the fact that the chances that she had been heard were remote. She had to assume that she was on her own.

“Cripes, Luke, don’t hurt her,” Gary said from the doorway, sounding alarmed.

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Luke looked disgusted. “Of course I’m not going to hurt her. What do you think I am, anyway? But we can’t just let her go running down the beach screaming that she just escaped from a couple of psychos, either.” He focused on Christy, who was glaring at him. “Will you just please let me explain? Please?”

If there was an explanation that didn’t involve some kind of weird proclivity on his part, she was all ears.

She gave a curt nod.

“That’s my girl,” he soothed, cautiously lifting his hand from her mouth. “Honey, I know this looks bad, but—”

That
honey
hit home. Appalled, she remembered the tender feelings she’d been experiencing toward him, the warmth, the lust …

“Oh my God, I slept with a fricking pervert,” she gasped.

“Not pervert,” Gary said from the doorway. “FBI.”

FBI?

Luke’s head dropped against her shoulder so that she could no longer see his face. That gesture as much as anything told the story. Knowing that she was physically safe should have been a relief, but she couldn’t quite get her mind around how such a thing could be. Her heart continued to thud and her blood to race, and to make matters worse she was suddenly finding it difficult to catch her breath.

“FBI?” she asked blankly.

With Luke’s head out of the way, she could see Gary in the doorway. He nodded glumly at her.

“FBI?” This time it was uttered in an awful tone.

Luke’s head came up. He met her gaze. His expression was both pained and rueful.

“Yeah,” he said.

It took another moment for her mind to fully grasp the hideous truth.

“You
creep,
” she gasped.

“FBI,” Gary corrected urgently from the doorway.

Luke’s head dropped again.

“Gary, man, go watch the monitors, would you please?” His voice was faintly muffled by her shoulder. Christy could once again see Gary over Luke’s broad back. “The only thing that could possibly make this any better is if we got another surprise visitor.”

Gary made an apologetic face at her. If Christy had had a free hand available, she would have flipped him the bird.

“And shut the door,” Luke added.

Gary nodded, and complied.

At the sound of the door being closed, Luke’s head came up again. For a moment neither he nor Christy said anything as their gazes met and held. She lay stiff as a board beneath him, registering his bronzed handsomeness, his dark gold curls, his intense blue eyes as if she were seeing them for the first time.

“My God,” she said slowly, as their entire association scrolled like a fast-forwarded movie through her head, “it’s all been a lie.”

“Not everything,” he said, but she cut him off ruthlessly.

“You’re not a lawyer from Atlanta.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“No.” His tone was apologetic.

“You’re not here on vacation.”

“No.”

“You and Gary didn’t get a week off and the use of this beach house from your employer.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t believe this. What are you doing here?” She drew in a sharp breath as suddenly everything began to come together in her mind. “You’re here
spying
on me.”

He grimaced. “We’ve had you under surveillance. Christy—”

“No.” Her voice was sharp. “I want to work this out for myself. That first night—you were on my patio.” Something black leaped onto the dresser, catching her gaze, startling her until she saw what it was: Marvin. He crouched there, tail lashing, glaring at them. A thought occurred to her, and her eyes widened as her gaze shifted back to Luke. “Marvin—is he even your cat? He’s not, is he? You were
lying.
”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “He’s a stray.”

“I don’t believe this. What were you doing on my patio?” Suddenly she tensed. “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Elizabeth Smolski, did you?”

“Jesus God, Christy, you know me better than that.”

Christy looked at him, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t know you better than that. I don’t know you at all. Is Luke Randolph even your name?”

He sighed. “Luke Rand. I’m a Special Agent with the Philadelphia office of the FBI.”

Philadelphia.
Christy didn’t say it aloud. She couldn’t. She could barely breathe, let alone speak. His weight
suddenly felt as if it were crushing her lungs. The sense of betrayal she felt was making her sick to her stomach.

“Could you get off me, please?” she asked in a tight little voice.

His eyes flickered over her face. “Sure. As long as you stay put. We need to talk here.”

“So talk.” Her tone was less than friendly, but he released her wrists and rolled off her, although he kept a careful hand splayed across her stomach. Just in case, she guessed, she should try to bolt.

Not that she had any intention of going anywhere just yet. She wanted—no, she
needed
—to hear exactly how big a fool she had been.

“Philadelphia,” she said, her arms moving down until they were pressed flat beside her. Beneath her fingers she could feel the velvety texture of the velour blanket that covered the bed. “Exactly how long have you been watching me?”

He was lying on his side next to her, his head propped on one hand. She could feel the warm solidity of him against her arm, her side. Meeting his gaze, Christy felt pain twist in her heart like a small, cold knife.
It had all been a lie …

“We’ve been aware of you ever since you went to work at DePalma and Lowery.”

“Oh my God.” Her stomach clenched. Her fists clenched. “Two years. I don’t believe this.”

His lips tightened. “You, personally, have only been under surveillance since you came to Ocracoke. Before that we were watching the law firm and the Masseria family in general, and Michael DePalma in particular.”

“You followed me down to Ocracoke.” The true scope of the situation was becoming clear to her in spurts. It was as if her mind could only absorb so much betrayal at once.

“We didn’t exactly follow you. We’re looking for Michael DePalma. We thought he might contact you here.”

“Michael’s still in Philadelphia.” Her voice went very small on the last two words. “Isn’t he?”

Luke shook his head. “A sealed indictment was issued for him last week. Before he could be picked up, he disappeared. We have evidence that suggests he may be here on Ocracoke. You wouldn’t happen to have any idea exactly where, would you?”

“No.”

He gave a little shrug. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“What was he indicted for?” If her voice got any tighter it would squeak.

“Money laundering. Racketeering. Wire fraud. And soliciting the murders of two witnesses who can put him away for a minimum of twenty years, both of whom have been taken into custody for their own safety.”

Oh God. Michael had solicited murders. She’d suspected that he was capable of that; now her suspicions were confirmed.

“Did he know? That he was going to be indicted, I mean?” Those last few weeks, she’d seen no sign of tension in Michael, no indication that anything was amiss. They’d been happy—at least, she’d been happy. Until Franky …

“It was supposed to be a secret proceeding. Obviously
he got wind of it when the indictment was actually handed down, or he wouldn’t have disappeared.”

A moment passed.

“You’ve been pumping me for information about him, haven’t you?” Light dawned in an unholy burst. “You’ve been trying to sweet-talk me into giving you information to help you find Michael.”

Luke’s jaw hardened fractionally. That was all it took: Christy knew it was true without him having to say a word. Recalling various exchanges, her eyes widened.

“That first night—what were you doing on my patio that first night?” Her stomach felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Her gaze was riveted to his.

“Bugging your house.”

“Bugging my house.” Christy took a deep breath. She hadn’t realized how tightly her fists were clenched until she deliberately relaxed them. “I thought at the time that it was odd that you could hear me screaming. These houses are practically soundproof. You heard me over your little audio/video system, didn’t you?”

He looked grim. “You’re damned lucky I did. I saved your life, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I remember.” What Christy remembered was that it was then that she had first started to trust him. What a fool she’d been! “Didn’t you make some kind of joke about being Johnny-on-the-spot that night?”

He had the grace to wince. “Christy—”

“Wait.” She held up her hand. “Let me just get this whole thing straight in my mind before you start trying to sweet-talk me again. The lighthouse was next. You didn’t follow me because you wanted to ask me out to
dinner. You were keeping me under surveillance because you thought I might be meeting Michael. Weren’t you?”

“Michael or somebody who could lead us to Michael.”

“You know, I think I’m starting to see some light here. When I kissed you on my patio, it was night and the curtains were shut. A camera wouldn’t have been able to see us. You were all over me like a bad rash. Then as soon as we got inside, you lost interest. That wasn’t because you were afraid I was using you, was it? It was because my house is bugged, right?”

“I did not lose interest. Are you kidding me? I had to practically hobble home.”

“But you turned me down even though I did everything but beg you to stay.”

His face could have been carved from stone. “Staying would have been unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional.” Christy drew the word out. The betrayal thing was really starting to sink in, and her temper was beginning to heat. “Uh-huh.”

“You need to try to understand—” he began, frowning. His hand slid across her stomach.

“Oh, I do understand.” Did she ever. She understood so much that her body hummed with tension; her eyes blazed up at him. “You romanced me to try to weasel information out of me. You kissed me to try to weasel information out of me. You
screwed
me to try to weasel information out of me. Where I come from, that doesn’t make you a professional. It makes you a
jerk.
”