Going Overboard (21 page)

McKay took a deep breath, fighting a need to kiss her, then shake her.

“Is that a yes or a no?” she asked weakly.

“You figure it out.”

Carly tugged up the blanket, looked underneath, and frowned. “A no. I guess I didn't miss anything earthshaking. I think I'll get up and slink away now—before mortification sets in.”

She tried to sit up, only to slip back with a little huff of pain. “Another bad idea. Apparently, I need more practice at this seduction stuff.”

McKay brought her palm to his lips. “Try that on any other man, and I just might have to kill him.”

She stared at him for an eternity, then shook her head. “What is it with you? You're high-handed interfering, and secretive. I keep wondering why I like you.” She yawned. “Maybe it's a virus.”

“Virus?”

“You know, where you confound my normal defenses. Like white cells run amok.” She yawned. “Or something.”

“I like you, too,” he said, his voice strained.

She smiled crookedly. “In that case, it would probably be a shame to go and spoil things by having incendiary sex. Good friends are hard to find.” She linked her fingers through his, her eyes dropping closed. “Going to sleep now.”

Her breathing slowed.

McKay stared at their linked fingers, aware of a roaring in his head. His jeans were stretched tighter than he had thought humanly possible for the male anatomy, and he was having a hard time breathing.

The reason came to him with devastating clarity.

It scared the living hell out of him.

He was in love with her. Stupidly, blindly, unforgivably.

M
cKay was pouring himself a cup of Archer's amazing cappuccino when he spotted Daphne. She hit Paradise Cay like a whirlwind trailing a cloud of designer perfume. Today she wore three-inch heels, a white leather miniskirt, and a white T-shirt that stopped just short of looking sprayed on. The woman had great legs, McKay thought.

But his appreciation was entirely impersonal. It was another pair of legs that he couldn't scrape out of his memory, as much as he had tried.

Already familiar with the lay of the kitchen, he pulled down another cup and saucer. “Carly will be glad to see you when she gets up.”

“You mean she's resting?” Daphne eyed him speculatively. “The woman never rests.”

“She does now.”

“You're busy working miracles, I see.” She leaned closer. “Sorry to say it, but you look like hell, McKay. A long night?”

He hadn't slept, couldn't eat. He didn't want to think about why. He'd never felt so close to another human being, never sensed another person's moods so intensely. He found himself wanting to share all his waking moments with her, then slip off to sleep with his body wrapped around hers.

At odd moments he found himself thinking about buying
land, breeding horses, building a house from scratch. All the while, need for her was shredding his focus, his calm, his sanity. He told himself it was the result of close proximity and a stressful mission, but he knew that was a lie.

This was something far deeper, far more complex. It wasn't every day a man discovered he'd fallen hard for a woman who showed every probability of destroying his career—along with his sanity.

Time for a another shot of caffeine, he decided. He filled Daphne's cup, then recharged his own. “I'll survive,” he said. “Probably.”

Daphne cradled the cup carefully. “If you want to talk, I'm a good listener.”

“I'll keep it in mind.” Like hell he would. Talking would only make things messier.

He pushed back his chair, then paced restlessly to the window, checking the staff near the woods.

Behind him stew simmered on the stove, filling the kitchen with the rich scent of garlic, basil, and vine-ripened tomatoes. Loaves of bread cooled on a rack nearby.

All the comforts of home
, McKay thought.

Up until now, having a home had never been a blip on his radar screen.

The thought only added to his irritation.

“Archer's cooking for an army, I see.” Daphne toyed with her cup. “He does that when he's worried.”

McKay didn't answer, aware they had entered dangerous waters. “How about some fresh dill bread?” he asked casually. “Archer just took it out of the oven a few minutes ago.”

“No, thanks. With this skirt I can't even look at food.” Her eyes hardened. “Besides, I didn't come to eat. Has there been any news from New York?”

McKay shook his head.

“Idiots. Is she throwing things yet?”

“She's working up to it.” McKay smiled faintly. “If I

keep provoking her, you might see a vase or two go flying.”

“Good. An explosion would be therapeutic.” Daphne's gaze flickered around the kitchen, then back to McKay. “You look jumpy.”

“Trying times.”

“True enough.” Daphne sipped her coffee. “My father was on the phone until the wee hours. He's made sure his lawyers sink their teeth deep on this one. That no-talent weasel of an actor has finally issued a statement that his earlier charges were made in haste and might possibly have been misconstrued.”

“Possibly?”

“Negotiation is all,” Daphne said cynically. “He's holding out for extra compensation. He also wants guaranteed placement for two more jobs.”

“Pushy bastard.”

Daphne smiled. “But a nervous one. If his attack backfires, he'll be blacklisted in New York and everywhere else that counts.”

McKay watched a bird fly low over the rose garden and thought about a new angle. Was Griffin Kelly capable of organizing the attack at the waterfall out of revenge?

No, McKay decided. From what he'd seen, the planning was beyond a lightweight like Kelly.

“Keep pounding him. He'll fold under pressure.”

“Meanwhile Carly is left to dangle in the wind.” Daphne pushed away her coffee. “It makes me livid.”

McKay knew exactly how she felt.

Daphne stared down at her locked fingers. “Have you told Carly the truth yet?”

McKay wondered what secrets she had managed to work out of her father. “You mean that I'm really Dennis Rodman with a lot of expensive surgery?”

“You'd look good with an earring.”

“I'll pass on that—and the body tattoos.”

“She should know why you're here.”

“She already knows. I'm here to—”

“The truth,” Daphne said tightly. “Not the slick story.”

“Tell me the truth about what?” Carly stood in the doorway her face soft from sleep. She looked anxious and vulnerable as she stared from one to the other. “Daphne, what did you mean?”

“Hell.” Daphne sighed. “I'm worried about both of you. Apparently I'm better at worrying than I am at keeping my mouth shut. Maybe it's my imagination, but I'd say you two were involved. Or about to be involved.” She waved a hand as McKay began a denial. “No, don't bother. It's not my business anyway. Just one piece of advice: Don't blow it. If there's anything I do know, it's that life's too short to be proud—or stupid.” She moved past Carly and frowned. “Your buttons are crooked. Your scarf also happens to be twisted.” She bent to pick something off the floor near Carly's foot. “Well, well, isn't this interesting?”

Carly swept the foil square from her fingers. “It's not what you think.”

“I'd say it's exactly what I think.”

Stiffly, Carly rebuttoned her dress. “Don't change the subject. Tell me what you meant about McKay telling me the truth.”

Daphne crossed her arms. “Ask him. I've got to discuss a recipe with Archer. My father has some Japanese investors visiting tomorrow and I'm going to make them swoon over the conch fritters. After that, maybe some mango ice cream.” She sauntered past Carly, headed toward the patio. “You two have a nice chat.”

Carly rounded on McKay. “Tell me.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I haven't got a clue what she meant.” He reached for the foil packet. “Hand it over. You won't be needing it.”

Carly's eyes glittered. “Maybe I'll just head into Bridgetown and drown my sorrows.” She smiled icily. “So to speak.”

“Think again.” He'd kill the first man who looked at her, much less touched her.

Carly straightened her shoulders. “News flash from the Vatican: Saint Carly doesn't live here anymore.”

“Nigel Brandon asked me to keep an eye on you. He thinks I can keep you from doing something reckless.”

“Aren't you two chums all of a sudden. And by all means, let's not be reckless.” Carly's voice rose angrily. “Let's just troop along nicely like good little campers.”

Standing in the doorway, Archer looked thoughtfully from one to the other. “Your guests have arrived Miss Carly.”

“Guests? What guests?”

“Five members of your crew. Inspector St. John escorted them up from the main road.” Archer glanced at McKay, who nodded.

“She'll be right out.”

“She will?” Her face flushed with anger. “Camp just let out, McKay. You can stop trying to regiment my life.” She shoved away his hand and headed for the foyer, her face mutinous.

“An old island expression comes to mind right now,” Archer murmured.

“I don't want to hear it.”

“I'd be glad to tell you,” Archer continued mildly. “I believe it translates as ‘some days suck.’ ”

“This is definitely one of them.” McKay followed the laughter to the sunny porch above the rose garden, where Carly was surrounded by her crew. She studiously avoided him, all her attention focused on a painfully thin young man whose buzz-cut purple hair went very nicely with his purple earring.

“I put in my exposure meter with memory averaging and digital readouts. It does everything but takes the shot for you.” His earring spun as he opened a padded aluminum case. “Here it is.”

Recognizing the love-stricken expression in the

staffer's eyes as he stared at Carly, McKay suppressed a twinge of sympathy.

“And here's my best tripod. One-touch opening and a top-of-the-line gear head. Just feel the movement on this pan wheel, smooth as butter. You'll grab some amazing shots with it.”

Carly stared as a woman in ragged shorts and heavy hiking boots nudged the lighting tech aside and pulled something else out of the box. “Here are some light flags and a c-stand, my three favorite spots, and an amazing 3-D concave reflector. The translucent white gives you amazing softness along with clarity. The gaffer tape goes too.”

“I can't take these. You know that.” Carly took a ragged breath. “This is your personal equipment.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked from one face to the next.

“Take it and put it to use.” Expertly, Carly's lighting tech set up the camera tripod, then angled two light stands on either side of it. “Then send Mel some killer footage that will get us back here to finish the job.”

“I can't tell you how much this means to me.” Carly traced the tripod lovingly. “But I don't have a camera.”

“Hank knew you'd say that.” Daphne glanced pointedly at a box behind Carly's chair. “That's why he left you his new camcorder.”

The lighting tech gave a low whistle. “That baby has 10x power zoom, a time-base corrector, and single-frame recording. Hank must like you big time—he won't even let me near it.”

“I don't know what to say.” Carly smiled shakily. “Thank you all so much, but I couldn't possibly borrow all this. It's out of the question.”

“Hank expected you to say that, too.” Daphne crossed her arms. “He said to tell you to stop making lame excuses and get back to work. He wants footage to look at tomorrow, when he finishes bashing heads in New York.”

She squeezed Carly's shoulder. “If people want to help you, let them.”

McKay moved back into the shadows as Carly brushed at the tears streaming down her face. She had the loyalty of her crew, and McKay suspected she'd worked hard to earn it. He glanced across the porch as Inspector St. John climbed the steps from the garden and joined him.

“They're good friends. I'm glad they stood by her.” St. John crossed his arms, studying McKay. “I've got some information for you. The men we're holding in custody know nothing. The attack at the waterfall was arranged entirely by phone, and the payment was handled anonymously, left inside a rental box at the airport. Someone was extremely careful.”

“Have your people tracked down that silver Audi?”

“We found it two hours ago, abandoned near the airport.”

“So they're smart as well as cautious.” McKay didn't like the combination. “What about the Russian?”

“Vronski has tabled his negotiations. He told the governor he needed time to determine if Santa Marina was the best location for his investment.” St. John frowned. “Under the circumstances.”

“Shrewd move.” McKay watched one of the estate security officers move unobtrusively through the trees at the far end of the garden. “Either that or it's a damned good bluff. Did Vronski mention the attack on Governor Brandon's family?”

St. John shook his head.

That could be equally shrewd, McKay decided. All news of the attack had been kept out of the local papers. If Vronski was involved he'd hardly trumpet his knowledge of the event. “How about that crime wave you're battling on Santa Marina?”

“Quiet, for the moment.”

McKay wasn't overly relieved by the news. He had a hunch there would be more pressure and more attacks.