Hotshot (19 page)

“Lucy doesn’t look like she’s having much fun.”

“She’s frustrated,” Finn said, keeping his voice as low as Peyton’s so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“This isn’t about sex,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Did I say it was?”

“You said she was frustrated.”

He laughed, drawing a frown from Lucy before she turned back to Christopher to make yet another point.

“Frustrated because she isn’t winning this round,” Finn explained.

“Oh. I misunderstood.”

Finn glanced over at Peyton. Her face was pink with embarrassment. “I’m just messing with you,” he admitted. “She wants him as much as he wants her.”

“Aha!” Peyton felt vindicated. She nudged him. “Unless you’re a mind reader you can’t know what either one of them wants.”

“I read people for a living, you know.”

She snorted.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said.

Peyton could almost see the tension easing from his shoulders. His smile was boyish again. “Do you want to swim tonight?” she asked.

No hesitation there. “Yes,” he answered. “And you promised to swim with me.”

“I promised? I don’t know about that. On second thought, maybe we should put it off until tomorrow. You look tired to me.”

“Nice try, Lockhart. You’re swimming, and I’m not at all tired.” Nodding toward Lucy he added, “But your sister looks wiped out.”

Peyton had to agree. Lucy’s face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She had been working long hours and needed a break. They all did.

Christopher had reached the door to his office when Peyton called his name. “Want to get a beer with Finn and me?” she asked.

He didn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, let’s do that. I could use a beer.” With a meaningful glance at Lucy, he added, “It’s been a long day.”

“What about me?” Lucy asked.

“You need something stronger,” Peyton told her. “You need nachos and beer.”

“I do,” Lucy said. She perked up the second she heard the word
nachos
. It was her forbidden indulgence. “I really, really do. I’ll just get my purse.”

Finn put his arm around Peyton’s waist and pulled her closer. He lowered his voice so the other two couldn’t hear. “You have more bad news to give, don’t you?”

“How did you know?”

He pictured her pounding the desk with the office phone. “Just a hunch.”

He pulled keys from his pocket and announced, “I’ll drive. Where are we going?”

Peyton and Lucy answered at the same time. “Reds.”

“You haven’t been banned from that place yet, have you?” Christopher asked Lucy.

She trailed him into the hallway. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” he countered. “I was asking a serious question.”

Peyton slipped her hand under Finn’s arm and followed them. “They’re a lovely couple, aren’t they?”

______

The bar and grill was just a mile away from Bishop’s Cove. On the way out of the resort’s gates, Finn stopped to talk to two guards on duty and noticed the photocopy of a picture of Debi taped to the glass. “Absolutely no entry” was written underneath. That’s not gonna keep the woman out, he thought. She’d walk ten miles of beach to get what she wanted.

Reds was a local hangout. At first glance, it looked like a dive. The walls, painted a dark red, were cracked and the old wooden floor sagged, but the place was clean. There were several flat-screen televisions on the walls, each showing a different sport. The place was packed and every seat was taken, leaving the area around the bar crowded with standing patrons.

The bartender was pouring brews from the tap when they walked in. He turned at the door opening, and his eyes immediately zoned in on the gun at Finn’s side. Setting the full mug on a tray for the waitress, he started toward them with a hand up, signaling them to halt. Finn held up his badge, and the bartender nodded and went back to his job. No one else in the bar noticed the weapon, or if they did, they didn’t care.

A booth at the back of the bar was being cleared, and Lucy elbowed her way through the drinking crowd to get to it before anyone else could. Christopher sat next to her.

Finn was stopped by an older couple. “I know you,” the man said. “You were on television. You did a heck of a thing. That was you, wasn’t it?”

His wife smiled with adoration. “I saw you, too. You were so courageous.”

The man insisted on shaking Finn’s hand before he would allow him to leave.

Peyton whispered, “I told you someone would recognize you.”

“What?”

“You can’t take home three gold medals and expect that no one will remember. I don’t care how long it’s been. What’s so funny?”

He wouldn’t tell her, but he couldn’t stop laughing as they slid into the booth across from Lucy and Christopher. He faced the bar and the crowd with his back to the wall, a perfect spot to see what was coming. He didn’t expect trouble, but he was always ready for it.

As they feasted on nachos and fish tacos, everyone’s mood lightened. Peyton was glad to see Lucy having a good time. She even told a joke. It was a lame one, but they still laughed—even Christopher. The laugh lines appeared around his eyes again, and the frown lines that had been furrowing his brow were erased. When he told a funny story about one of the guests of the resort who tried to smuggle a lamp from her room, Lucy laughed so hard she grabbed hold of his arm and leaned into him. Maybe there was something going on between the two of them after all, Peyton thought.

Inevitably, the conversation turned to the work at the resort.

“We’ll be back on track tomorrow,” Lucy told Finn.

“No, we won’t,” Peyton interjected.

“Didn’t you look at the schedule?” Lucy asked. “The plumbers—” She stopped when Peyton shook her head. “What?”

“No plumbers,” Peyton announced.

Christopher didn’t seem fazed by the news. Lucy, on the other hand, went ballistic.

“If you tell me—”

“I am telling you,” Peyton said. “According to the scheduler, you called and canceled the order a week ago. Just like the electricians. Now they’re on another job and won’t be available for at least a month.”

“Cassady is doing this,” Lucy said between clenched teeth. “I’ll bet the plumbers are working on one of his high-rises.”

Peyton turned to Finn to explain. “Cassady is trying to sabotage us so that he can step in and get control of Bishop’s Cove.”

“I can bring in new plumbers, just like I’m doing with the electricians,” Christopher offered, “but we’ll have to keep quiet about them, too.” His calm and pragmatic attitude was reassuring as he went on to lay out his plan. He would go beyond the nearest town of Port James and hire tradesmen. It might cost a little more, he told them, but they wouldn’t have to deal with Cassady’s interference.

Finn was listening to the conversation, but he was watching the bar. Two men in their late thirties were arguing with the bartender.

Peyton drummed her fingertips on the table. “I think it’s time we started playing hardball. Christopher, who is Cassady’s biggest competitor?”

Finn smiled. “I like the way your mind works.”

“Miller,” Christopher answered. “Dan Miller and Scott Cassady have been fighting each other over every project in Port James. Miller is way ahead of Cassady there, but Cassady prides himself on the fact that he squeezed Miller out here on the island.”

“You’re saying Miller doesn’t have a single building here?” Lucy asked.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Peyton and Lucy looked at each other and began to laugh. Then Peyton said, “I think it’s time to invite Mr. Miller to tour our little cove.”

“How soon do you think word will get back to Cassady?” Lucy asked.

Christopher grinned. “Before Miller gets out of his car.”

Finn interrupted their discussion by jumping to his feet. “Stay here,” he ordered as he unsnapped his gun and headed to the bar. The panicked young bartender was trying to separate the two men who were now going at each other in a shoving match. Each man outweighed the bartender by at least a hundred pounds. One had a large beer gut, and the other had a pronounced double chin. Both were so out of shape, they were panting and sweating profusely. Finn suspected that, if they got into a fistfight, the exercise would kill them. Double Chin was accusing Beer Gut of stealing money from him. It was always money or women, Finn thought.

Everyone in the bar fell silent and scattered to watch the brawl from a safe distance. The argument was getting out of hand, and Finn got there just in time. Beer Gut was reaching behind his back and pulling a handgun from under his shirt when Finn slammed his head down on the bar. “Hands where I can see them,” he ordered.

Beer Gut struggled to lift his head. “Who are you to tell me—”

Finn took his gun. “I’m FBI. Now put your hands on the bar.”

He turned to Double Chin whose hand had disappeared behind him. “You too,” Finn barked. “Turn around and hands on the bar.”

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” The smirk on his face disappeared and he froze when Finn pressed the barrel of a gun against his forehead.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” Finn said.

Double Chin turned slowly. Finn snatched his gun and pushed him toward the bar.

“What were you planning?” Finn asked the two culprits. “To shoot each other in a bar full of people?”

“He owes me money,” Beer Gut whined.

“Oh, then that’s all right.” Finn wanted to coldcock both of them but he resisted the urge. He patted them down and removed a switchblade from Beer Gut’s pocket, then dragged both men to the back of the bar and made them sit on the floor to wait for the police. As he was making the call, he walked back to his table where Lucy and Christopher were watching the action with mouths open and eyes wide.

“It will be a few minutes before we can leave,” he told them.

He was worried Peyton would be freaked out, but she wasn’t. Smiling, she said, “Then I’ll have dessert.”

Ten minutes and one scoop of vanilla ice cream later, Officers Trace Isles and Cody Pepperson arrived. Finn was waiting for them, standing next to the two men sitting on the floor.

“Twice in one day,” Trace said. “We’re sure glad you’re here. You cut our crime wave down to zero.”

“How are your ribs?” Finn asked.

“Sore, but intact. No cracks from that bullet. You know, it could have been a bloodbath out there.”

Finn nodded. “It could have.”

“Sorry you had to spend so long at the station with reports.”

Grinning, Finn said, “I spent more time on the phone with my boss.”

“I didn’t think those reporters who showed up were going to let you get out of there,” Trace said.

“I just let them know that the Port James Police Department would be handling any statements.” He changed the subject and nodded toward the two brawlers on the floor. “About these two . . .” He told what had happened and gave Trace the weapons.

Across the room, Peyton was watching with interest and trying to figure out what was going on. It appeared that Finn was familiar with one of the police officers, and she couldn’t understand how they would know each other. When at last the police hauled the two men to their feet to take them away, Finn returned to their table.

“We can leave now,” he announced.

“Did you know that police officer?” she asked.

“We’ve met,” he answered.

Still curious, she asked, “Where?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he answered as he took her hand and led the way toward the door with Lucy and Christopher close behind.

They were halfway across the bar when Peyton noticed that everyone was staring at them and then glancing up at the television overhead. She pulled her hand away from Finn’s and stopped. On the screen was an image of a man being carried on a gurney to an ambulance. The picture that followed was Finn’s face. Microphones were being shoved at him as he was getting into his car. Across the bottom of the screen scrolled the story of a shooter at a bank and the brave FBI agent who saved the city from carnage.

Peyton looked at the screen and then at Finn in total shock. “You saved a whole city?”

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He put his arm around her shoulder.

She started laughing.

“Of course you did,” she said as she let him steer her toward the door.

They made their exit just as the cheering and the clapping erupted. All of it for Finn. The hotshot.

P
eyton’s idea of swimming was to sit on the side of the pool and dangle her feet in the water. If she were at the beach, she would sit in the sand and let the surf gently wash over her toes. For her, swimming was a leisurely, relaxing activity that didn’t involve work.

She knew Finn wasn’t going to let her be a bystander tonight. When he said they were going to swim, he really meant swim.

Maybe she could distract him, or at the very least torment him a little. She knew he liked her body—he’d told her so several times now—and if he was going to force her to do laps, she was going to wear one of her old and definitely obscene bikinis. She wanted to make it difficult for him to concentrate, and the suit just might do it. The top of the bikini, two triangles of fabric that plunged to a deep V, revealed the fullness of her breasts, and the bottom—what little there was—was fabric held together by a string tied into a bow at the top of each hip. This wasn’t the first time she’d worn the killer suit. She’d put it on several times in the past couple of years, but she had never had the nerve to actually wear it out of her bedroom. Tonight was different. She wanted to drive the man who had just saved a frickin’ city out of his ever-loving mind.

She pulled on a University of Texas T-shirt and a pair of white tennis shorts. Just in case the air turned chilly she carried a thick white terry-cloth robe she’d borrowed from linens at the hotel. It would keep her warm on the walk back. She tucked her phone and a few other necessary items in the robe’s deep pockets, and she was all set.

Finn was waiting for her by the door. He took her key to lock the deadbolt on their way out and slipped the key in the pocket of his jeans. As usual, his gun was attached to his belt. He noticed her staring at it. “We’ve been over this. While I’m here, I’m keeping the gun close.”

“It came in handy at the bar.”

He took hold of her hand. “You’re dragging your feet. Let’s get moving.”

Reluctantly she picked up her pace, her flip-flops slapping against the concrete with each step. “It’s a good thing the man you threatened to shoot didn’t know you were bluffing.”

“I was bluffing?”

That devastating smile was back. He could get anything he wanted with that smile, she thought. She was ready to throw herself at him now, and she imagined every other woman he met felt the same way. Hmm . . . she didn’t know how she felt about that. Picturing him with any other woman didn’t sit well. That unpleasant thought led to another. Danielle. What was the story with her?

“Why are you glaring at me?” he asked as they made their way across the back lot and headed to a side door of the hotel.

She shook her head. “What did the technician have to say?”

Finn explained what the findings were and ended with, “When I find the rifle that was used, the bullet will match it.”

Peyton handed Finn the key to get inside the hotel. What little staff there was had gone home hours ago. It was eerily quiet inside. The soft lighting above the baseboards of the hallway led to the lobby and the elevators. Another key unlocked the door to the pool. The smell of chlorine was faint but noticeable. Finn flipped the lock so that no one else could enter, then turned on the underwater lights, and a shimmering iridescent glow filled the dome.

Peyton watched him strip down to his swim trunks, the muscles across his shoulders rippling as he stretched his arms over his head, his skin dappled gold by the lights. He sat on the side of the pool and waited for her to join him, but she wasn’t in any hurry. She turned away from him and removed her shorts, carefully folding them and placing them on the chair next to her robe. Slowly she lifted her T-shirt over her head and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, hoping the action was provocative.

Trying to be sexy took concentration, she decided. Unfortunately, it was a wasted effort because, when she turned around, Finn was in the water already swimming laps. Maybe she would get to sit on the side and dangle her feet after all. The thought cheered her. She dug through the pockets of the robe, found her hair tie, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. She checked her phone messages next. By the time she was finished with that task, she was sure Finn would have done several laps.

Finn pulled himself up and out of the pool and stood with his legs braced apart waiting for Peyton to turn around. He couldn’t take his eyes off her gorgeous backside. He wondered how she’d feel if he told her it aroused the hell out of him. When she finally turned to face him his knees nearly buckled. Her breasts were full and round, and her hips gently flared above her perfect thighs and long amazing legs. She was slender and fit, and yet she was soft everywhere. Damn, he wanted her.

Peyton slipped her phone into the pocket of the robe and looked over her shoulder to find Finn standing on the pool deck watching her. The intensity in his expression and the dark look in his eyes told her the bikini had done its job. She slowly walked over to him, stopped long enough to run her fingertips across his chest, and then continued on. He came up behind her, lifted her into his arms, and jumped into the water. When they came up, her arms were wrapped around his neck, holding tight, and her body was pressed against his.

“Show me what you can do.” His order was gruff and sexy as hell.

She kissed the side of his neck, then tugged on his earlobe with her teeth. Her tongue brushed against his skin.

Finn tensed in reaction and instinctively increased his hold on her. “What the hell, Peyton?”

“I’m showing you what I can do,” she whispered.

“I meant swimming,” he said as he pulled on her ponytail to bring her face up so that his mouth could cover hers. His hands moved down her back to her hips and he lifted her up to wrap her legs around him. Her pelvis rubbed against his groin as he made love to her with his mouth. For that moment in time she belonged to him.

Panting for breath, he finally lifted his head. “What else have you got?”

The challenge was there in his eyes. “Plenty,” she whispered.

Her hands moved down his chest, her fingers first circling his nipples, then gliding lower, stroking and caressing. He inhaled sharply when her fingers slid under the waistband of his trunks.

Suddenly she pushed away from him. “But we’re here to swim.” Laughing, she took off across the pool.

Finn stood there watching her. Long, even strokes, the right amount of kick, her head turning just enough to take in air. Her technique was every bit as good as it used to be. She’d come a long way since the summer all those years ago when he’d gotten stuck teaching her.

He remembered the hell she’d put her parents through. They were desperate for their girls to learn how to swim—to this day, her mother cried whenever she talked about the near drowning. Lucy and Ivy were quick learners. Peyton, on the other hand, screamed bloody murder whenever she got close to the water. Her parents tried everything. Group lessons at the Y, individual lessons at the country club—Peyton, stubborn to the core and terrified of the water, was having none of it. She liked wearing her swimsuit. She just wasn’t going to get it wet.

The two fathers—his and Peyton’s—came up with the brilliant idea that Finn should teach her. His reaction at the time was not positive. Just what a fourteen-year-old teenager wanted, a girl—what was she then? Five? Six?—screaming nonstop to keep from going into the pool. He had tried to get out of giving the lessons, but her father used Finn’s own words to get him to agree, reminding him that he had insisted that Peyton learn how to swim for her own safety. Reluctantly, Finn had acquiesced.

Having been warned about her fear of the pool, Finn showed up for her first lesson prepared for battle, and the strangest thing happened. She didn’t scream at all. She put her arms around his neck and willingly let him take her into the water. She was too young to have such absolute trust, but she did, and it took only three or four weeks before he had her swimming like a fish.

As he now stood beside the hotel pool watching her glide through the water, he was pleased to see that she hadn’t forgotten what he had taught her. She swam toward him, and when she flipped to begin another lap, he dove in and swam alongside her.

Peyton didn’t have as much stamina as Finn. She wore out in ten minutes and got out of the pool, content to sit on the side while he continued.

Her thoughts were scattered. There was so much to worry about she didn’t know where to start. Since she had arrived at Bishop’s Cove she’d done nothing but put out fires. She hadn’t had time to think about the restaurant she wanted to remodel. The building was inside the Cove but had been closed for over a year now. With the right chef, a killer menu, and beautiful decor, it could become the place to go. As soon as the other renovations were running smoothly, she could focus on it.

The new bullet hole in her car was another worry. According to Finn, the shooter couldn’t be identified . . . at least, not yet. If Drew Albertson was behind it, she hoped he was now convinced she wasn’t a threat to him and had gone home prepared to forget about her.

And that brought her to her biggest worry of all, the recording and getting it into the right hands. She needed to talk to Finn about Atlanta. As soon as Mimi texted Erik’s itinerary, Peyton would make her own flight reservation. Hopefully, it would be a one-day trip. The recording was a weight on her shoulders, and the sooner she gave it to Erik, the better.

Apprehension was gnawing at her. What if Erik didn’t do anything about Drew? What if he blew it off? Then what? After her experience in Dalton, it was nearly impossible to stay optimistic, but she was determined to try. She wanted to believe that Erik would do the right thing.

Reaching up, she pulled the rubber band from her ponytail, ran her fingers through the tangled mess, and dried it with a towel. Would Finn want to go with her to Atlanta? There wouldn’t be any reason for him to, she thought. If Drew believed she wasn’t going to make trouble for him, she wouldn’t be in any danger.

Finn was suddenly standing in front of her. He rose out of the water like a mythical god, the soft light from the pool casting an ethereal glow around him. She could barely hold a thought when he was this close to her.

He pushed her thighs apart, put his arms around her waist, and lifted her into the water. She wrapped her legs around his hips and put her hands on his shoulders.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

She began to massage the back of his neck. “When you came up out of the water, you reminded me of Poseidon. Without the pitchfork, of course.”

“Poseidon carried a trident, not a pitchfork,” he corrected.

Their smiles faded as they stared at each other, and the air was suddenly heavy with the tension that crackled between them.

He stared at her mouth. “I don’t have any control when I’m around you.” He didn’t sound happy about the admission.

“And that’s bad?”

“Yeah,” he growled. His open mouth covered hers, his tongue sliding in and out, pushing against hers. There was nothing gentle about his kiss. It was searing and demanding. When at last he lifted his head, both of them had trouble catching their breath.

“Your lips are so soft,” he whispered. His thumb gently outlined her mouth. “I love the way you taste.”

She shivered in his arms, warmth rippling through her body with his sweet words. He lowered his head and kissed her again, a long, intense kiss that held nothing back. She melted against him. Had he wanted to, he could have taken her then and there. She would have given him anything for another kiss.

Instead, he pulled her out of the pool and put the robe around her shoulders.

Finn didn’t say a word to her on the walk back to the condo. He seemed lost in thought.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she headed to her bathroom. “I’m taking a shower to get the chlorine out of my hair.”

She slipped out of her swimsuit and had just turned on the water and adjusted it to the perfect warmth when he knocked on the door. Holding the towel in front of her, she called out, “It’s not locked. What do you want? Towels are in the linen closet, and soap . . .” She opened the door just wide enough to peer around it. “Did you want something?”

He pushed the door aside and walked toward her. “I want you.”

He didn’t seem to need her agreement. His hands moved to the back of her neck and he jerked her to him, his mouth covering hers, sealing any protest.

She didn’t remember dropping the towel or Finn removing his trunks as he backed her into the shower. The water flowed over their bodies and they melded into one. He reached for the soap and turned her around, lathering her back, then her derriere, and all the way down her calves to her ankles. Turning to face him, he then proceeded to wash every inch of her front. He spent an inordinate amount of time on her breasts, and as soon as the soap was rinsed off, his mouth replaced his hands. He kissed each breast until the nipple was taut, straining. He took one into his mouth and began to suck while he stroked the other. His day’s growth of whiskers against her sensitive skin made her cry out, the pleasure was so intense.

He knelt before her, and her legs began to tremble with anticipation. His mouth was hot against her skin as he kissed her stomach, teasing her navel with his tongue. His hands gripped her thighs, and he pushed them apart so he could have better access to her heat. And then his mouth was there between her thighs, kissing her and driving her wild. He teased the sensitive nub with his tongue until she was begging for release, and then his fingers slid inside, pushing her over the edge, forcing her orgasm. Gripping his shoulders, she came apart against him. Her legs buckled, but he wouldn’t let her fall.

Finn wrapped her in his arms and stood holding her tight against him while he fought the urge to slam into her. She was so hot, wet, tight. If he didn’t have her soon, he thought he would explode.

It took Peyton long minutes to recover. She buried her face in his neck, sighing with pleasure.

“Did you like that?” he asked, rubbing against her.

“You couldn’t tell?” she whispered shyly.