Beachcomber (40 page)

As in,
you’re not going anywhere.

“Could you move away from the door?” In the interests of not making a scene, she kept the request polite.

“In a minute. Now that the game’s changed, there are a few ground rules I think we need to discuss. Number one, you don’t leave my side.”

“Oh, yes, I do. Like right now. Would you move, please?”

Luke’s jaw hardened.

“Honey, I hate to break this to you, but this isn’t up for debate: from here on out you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”

Her determination to keep things low-key was being severely tested. “Like hell.”

He studied her.

“You know, if you won’t cooperate, I have a couple of
choices here: I can take you into protective custody, or I can arrest you.”

She realized that his eyes held an expression she’d never seen in them before. They were hard, determined, ruthless. Here was the truth at last, she realized: what he was, first and foremost, was a cop on the job. And she was part of that job.

“No. Oh no.” Christy went cold as the full, hideous implications of his identity burst upon her with a vengeance. Uncle Vince had made it clear: the penalty for going to the authorities was death. Of course, in this case the authorities had come to her rather than the other way around, but she didn’t think anybody was going to be in a mood to appreciate the distinction when they found out. Budding panic sharpened her voice. “You don’t realize what you’ve done, do you? If they find out who you are, if they even think I’m cooperating with the FBI, they’ll kill me.”

His lips compressed. “In case it’s escaped your notice, somebody seems to be doing his best to kill you anyway.”

“It might not be the mob. It might be that serial killer they wrote about in the paper.”

“Is that what you really think?”

Christy took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Oh God, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either, but I’m working as hard as I can to find out. In the meantime, you’re going to stay glued to my side until I can make arrangements to get you out of here.”

“Get me out of here? What do you mean, get me out
of here? I can’t leave. Oh, wait, I forgot you don’t know. I didn’t tell you, did I? Uncle Vince sent me down here to deliver a briefcase to the Crosswinds Hotel. I don’t know what was in it but that’s why I was on the beach that first night. The deal was, if I did that for them, they’d let me alone. Then that phone call I got at the lighthouse—it was the same man who told me where to take the briefcase. He told me I’d be getting another delivery soon and to wait for it. I assume they’ll want me to take whatever it is somewhere. I can’t go anywhere until I’ve done it.”

“Hey, I’ve been watching you, remember? I know every move you’ve made since you’ve been here. And I’ve heard every phone call you’ve made or received, too. So yeah, I know what’s going on. And to hell with it. Much as I’d like to use you as bait to catch DePalma, this is getting too damned dangerous. You’re not waiting around for somebody to take another crack at you. I’m going to make arrangements for protective custody, which should take maybe a few hours to set up, and then you’re out of here.”

“Luke.” Christy took a deep breath. “Like I said before, you’ve got to get real. If there’s a hit out on me, they’ll keep trying until they get me no matter how long it takes, no matter where I am. I grew up with these people; I know how it works. The FBI can’t keep me safe forever. You can’t keep me safe forever.”

It was true, and she knew it, and he knew it. She could tell by the look in his eyes.

“If it is them, if I just do this one last job for them, then maybe they’ll leave me and my family alone.”

Luke’s mouth tightened. “Given what you know? Not a chance.”

Christy looked at him, remembered Franky, and faced the hideous truth.

“Yeah,” she said, and grimaced. “So now it’s my turn to get real.”

His eyes were grim. “I can get you into the Federal Witness Protection Program. A whole new identity, a new life.”

She didn’t want a new identity. She didn’t want a new life.

“What about Mom? And Angie? And Nicole and the kids? Can you get them all into the Federal Witness Protection Program, too?”

The look on his face answered her question: No.

“I didn’t think so.” Not that it really mattered. Her entire family had
lives:
friends, jobs, school, social activities. A huge extended family that popped in and out of the picture like a revolving door. They were all entwined with each other, entwined in Jersey, a sprawling, brawling, undoubtedly dysfunctional but nevertheless devoted clan that was part of the wallpaper of all of their lives. Christy’s heart bled at the thought of leaving that world forever; Angie, Nicole, and her mother would have to be dragged kicking and screaming away.

Only the problem wasn’t going to arise: even if she were to make that choice for herself, her mother and sisters would have to be left behind.

Not happening.

“Okay,” she said, thinking aloud. “If the guy trying to kill me is a hit man, even if you catch him it won’t be
enough. They’ll just keep trying. I’ll never be safe as long as I’m anywhere where they can find me. So the way I see it, I basically have two choices here: I can leave my family and everything I love behind and spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in some kind of protective custody, or I can stay right here and fight back. If you catch Michael, if he’s facing charges that carry a significant amount of time, he’ll tell everything he knows. He’ll take the entire Masseria family down with him before he spends something like twenty years in jail.”

“Yeah.” Luke’s eyes were opaque now. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “That’s my take on him, too.”

Christy’s stomach clenched. Tightening her arms around herself, she tried to ward off the cold that seemed to be seeping into her every pore. Taking on the Masseria family was something that she really, really did not want to do. “If the Masseria family goes down, I’m off the hook. I become the least of their problems.”

“Christy …” He knew where this was going. She could tell by his tone.

Christy’s heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. She had to wet her lips before she could speak. “Your plan was to use me to capture Michael. I don’t see any reason to change it. We wait for the delivery, whatever it is, and then the phone call, and then I take the package to wherever they tell me to take it. Then you follow the package to Michael.”

“No. Oh no. And there’s no ‘we’ in this. There’s me,
federal agent. And there’s you, protected witness, soon to be whisked out of harm’s way.”

“You can’t whisk me out of harm’s way, and you know it. Anyway, this is
your
plan. You came up with it. The only difference is that now I’m in on it.”

“Yeah, well, since I came up with that plan, things have changed.”

“What’s changed?” It was a challenge.

His brow creased and he looked at her steadily. “I’ve changed. You’ve changed.”

“How?”

“You want to know how?” His lips tightened. “This is how.”

Then his shoulders came away from the door in what was almost a lunge and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his lips hard and sure as they closed over her mouth.

For a moment, a weak moment, Christy didn’t resist. Taken by surprise, her instincts took over and she melted against him, intoxicated by the heat of his mouth, by the hunger of it, by her own response. Closing her eyes, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing up against him, feeling fire shoot clear down to her toes.

Then she remembered that this was another one of those men she didn’t really know. Luke Randolph, the lawyer who had made her laugh in the midst of her own personal hell week, the guy in whose arms she had felt safe, the man who could make her so hot that it embarrassed her even to think about it, did not exist. This was Luke Rand, FBI.

She’d had enough of falling in love with an illusion. Been there, done that. It wasn’t going to happen twice.

Pulling her mouth from his, she tore herself out of his arms. Heavy-lidded with desire, he simply watched as she backed away.

“That’s why,” he said quietly.

Christy took a deep, shaken breath. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Her stupid, yearning body longed to step back into his arms. Her stupid, yearning heart longed to take a chance on love one more time.

Fortunately, she had a cool and sensible if momentarily passion-fogged brain, and it had just about enough wattage left to say
no way.

“Christy—” He reached for her again.

“No,” she said sharply, stepping back. “Luke Randolph, the nice lawyer I was sleeping with, doesn’t exist.
You
I don’t know. I’ll help you catch Michael, and you’ll keep me alive. That’s as far as our new relationship goes.”

29

B
Y THE TIME
she and Luke left his bedroom some ten minutes later, they had come to a slightly uneasy accord. Basically, as long as things didn’t get too hairy (Luke’s word), she would carry on as before, with one modification: every step she took, he planned to be right behind her. Considering the alternative (a solo encounter with the psycho killer), she had no problem with that, as long as the relationship remained strictly business. The one stipulation of his that she didn’t like was that he could pull her out at will; the one stipulation of hers that he didn’t like was no sex. But neither was a deal breaker, and the bargain was struck. Christy figured that if and when the time came his stipulation would be subject to further negotiation; and she suspected that he felt the same about hers.

Fat chance.

The door to Pandora’s box—i.e., the telltale third bedroom—was firmly closed, Christy saw as she passed it, and not a sound could be heard from it. Angie, still in her orange bikini, was seated at the table with Gary, picking at what looked like the remains of a
blueberry muffin. Both had cups of coffee in front of them and were chatting away companionably.

“Hey.” Angie greeted her with a big shit-eating grin. Her opinion as to what had been occupying her sister’s attention was clear. Gary shot Christy a nervous look. Christy just managed to hold back on glaring at him. As far as lying was concerned, Gary wasn’t a whole lot more innocent than Luke; he’d been part of the conspiracy, too.

Although, of course, Gary hadn’t sweet-talked her into bed. That earned him extra bonus points toward a partial dispensation, as far as she was concerned.

“Hey,” Christy said in return, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, especially when Angie’s glance flicked beyond her to Luke, who had followed her in. What with one thing and another, they both looked a little disheveled, she knew. And tired. Definitely tired. Well, she felt tired, and she was sure it showed. Luke looked tired. His eyes were bloodshot and the tiny lines around them were more pronounced than usual.

They both looked like they had just finished up on a long and strenuous nooner, in fact.

At the thought, Christy felt her cheeks heat.

“Coffee,” Luke said, and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Directing the question to Angie, Christy pulled a chair out and dropped into it.

“What with the serial killer and all, when you didn’t come right back I got worried.” Angie’s lurking grin spoke volumes.

There was a clatter, and a yelp from Luke, who was
in the kitchen by this time. “What the—? Why is there a bowl of milk on the floor? With—is that my sandwich cut up in it?”

Gary looked at Luke. “When Angie got here, Marvin was having one of his little fits because we were out of cat food. She suggested the milk, then mixed the sandwich in with it because I was getting ready to throw it away. He was eating it when you and Christy came in.” His glance slid to Angie. “Probably Luke should have left him home in a kennel. He’s been really nervous since we got here.”

Christy practically had to bite her lip to keep from yelling
bullshit
at the top of her lungs. What did the FBI do, teach a master class in how to keep a straight face while telling outrageous lies?

“Where’d he run off to?” Now in the act of pouring himself a cup of coffee, Luke frowned as he looked back down the hall.

“Probably your bedroom. You know how he loves your bedroom,” Gary said.

“I think it is so incredibly sweet that you have a cat. Most men go for dogs.” Angie smiled at Luke. Christy knew her sister. If Angie hadn’t thought Christy had prior dibs, she would have put some major-league eyelash and boob movement into it. But sisterly loyalty was strong, so Angie accompanied that smile with a single torso-twisting squirm.

Of course, a squirm when you’re wearing a bikini that looked a lot like three Doritos on strings was eye-popping enough.

“Luke’s like that. He’s just a real sweet guy,” Christy
said, cutting him a look to see if he was noticing Angie. He caught her eye and smiled sardonically at her.

“You want cream and sugar in your coffee?” he asked her.

Actually, she liked her cream and sugar with a little coffee in them, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.