Stolen Heat (19 page)

His cell phone chimed in the bedroom, and he moved across the floor with a smile, knowing it was her on the other end of the line. If she was planning on getting him all hot and bothered, two could play at that game.

“My girlfriend would be upset if she knew you were calling me,” he said into the phone.

“Then you’d better not tell her,” a deeply accented male voice responded.

Pete went on instant alert.
Busir.
“I thought I told you I was out.”

A deep chuckle echoed over the line. “You said that. But I have something that just might interest you.”

He should have said no, hung up and turned off his phone. If he had, he could have avoided everything that happened next. But he didn’t. Because there was a small part of him—a part he was working hard to bury—that flared with excitement at Busir’s words.

He shifted the phone to his other ear and sealed his own fate. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

Dreams woke him. Or memories. He wasn’t sure which.

Pete was at Lauren’s fancy house on Key Biscayne. Sitting on her back stone patio, beer in hand, staring out at the beach and the open ocean beyond.

His sister was there behind him, on one of her many mini-vacations, as she called them, between photo shoots. She stood just inside the wide patio doors, in the kitchen she never used, on the phone ordering a pizza as he listened to the lap of water, the cry of a gull, the whisper of palms blowing in the warm gentle breeze.

It should have been peaceful, but it wasn’t. It should have relaxed him, but it didn’t. He’d told Lauren the whole story. Beginning to end. From the moment he’d met Kat at the tomb to that night she’d come home early from work and found him in her apartment packing, with a full box of artifacts at his feet.

The ones he’d purchased from Busir that afternoon. The ones he hadn’t known had been from her tomb.

She’d instantly accused him of being involved in the smuggling ring. Hadn’t listened to his side of things. Just kicked him out. Ended it all. Right there.

And when he’d realized how badly he’d fucked up, he hadn’t bothered to fight back.

What else could he have done? Stayed there and listened to her trash him? Watch what she’d felt for him grind to dust in her eyes?

Nope. He couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to watch that happen.

So he’d left. Flown back to Miami. Come here. Licked his wounds, had a few beers and gotten good and pissed. Time did that. Reduced the pain to duplicity. Alcohol helped.

Six months of trying to go straight, down the toilet because of one mistake. One major-ass, fuck-up-your-life mistake he didn’t have a clue how to fix.

Go back and tell her the truth.

He grimaced at Lauren’s words. Lifted the third beer—or was it the fourth? Drank long and deep.

Didn’t really matter what the count was up to. He was on the road to getting good and wasted tonight anyway. Go back? After everything Kat had said to him, and the way she’d looked at him like he was nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe that she couldn’t wait to scrape off? Going back would be the equivalent to slicing open a vein and bleeding out all over the floor. Of course, the fact Lauren was right, and that it was the only thing he
could
do, only made him want to speed up that whole get-shitfaced-drunk-and-forget-the-whole-nightmare process.

Then his cell rang.

He glanced at the display—unknown number—and considered letting it go to voice mail. He wasn’t really sure why he answered. Only knew he regretted it the moment he flipped the phone open.

The rest was a blur. Him rising, his beer bottle hitting the ground, shattering at his feet to spill cold, golden liquid over his shoes. Lauren rushing out of the house to ask what had happened. Slade’s voice—of all people—echoing in his head. And a blinding pain right beneath his sternum.

It was the pain that brought his eyes open now. He felt it as sharp and real as he had then. Staring up at the
water-stained ceiling, he gasped in a breath and rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest to ease the sting.

And then had a major-ass moment of confusion.

Not Lauren’s house. Not the blue sky he’d looked up at when he’d finally opened his eyes on that cold, stone patio after going under like a pansy.

No, now he was in a room. It was dark. A sliver of light formed a crescent shape on the wall straight ahead. A poorly painted beach scene hung at an angle directly in his line of sight.

He lifted his head, eyed the headboard that should have been behind him but was now near his feet. Then remembered the dive motel he’d paid cash for. The shower. The sheets. The bedbugs. The sex.

Kat.

Warmth spread through his whole body, slid down his chest. Pooled in his groin until he was hard all over again. He tipped his head, noticed he was alone and shot a look toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but he could just hear the hum of the fan running and saw light burning where wood met worn carpet.

Bathroom break. Smart. He needed one, too. When he could move.

He eyed the clock and noted it was almost six a.m.

Last night had been a really bad idea. Monumentally bad. The last thing he needed was to get twisted up with her again. Six years ago it had nearly killed him. Except, lying here now, with her scent all over his body and the taste of her still lingering on his tongue, it didn’t feel half bad. It felt…oddly right.

He kicked his foot out from beneath the sheet, absently wondering when he’d had the sense to pull the damn thing up. Wondered if she’d done it for him, or if he’d just used her body as his blanket until she’d finally climbed out of bed this morning.

Shiiit.
Really
bad idea.

He rubbed both hands over his face. Then looked back at the closed bathroom door. She’d been in there a long time.

Reaching out a hand, he touched her side of the bed only to find the sheets were already cold.

Something in his stomach tightened as he sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He really didn’t want to surprise her if she was on the toilet, but he also didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, leaned close to listen. Didn’t hear anything other than the hum of the fan.

“Kat?” When there was still no answer, he took a chance, turned the handle and pushed.

Light burned his eyes. He closed them quickly. Blinked until the spots faded from his vision. Then stared into an empty room.

The shower curtain was pulled back, an empty tub reflected in the mirror across the space. The counter was clean. Only his T-shirt hung over the towel bar.

“No fucking way.”

Surprise hit first. Then shock. Then abject disbelief. He turned quickly, flicked on the bedside lamp and discovered her backpack, clothes and shoes were gone as well.

Stunned, he stood there, staring into the quiet room, putting pieces together in his head. Her change in attitude last night at the diner. Her nervousness when they’d been going to bed. The way she’d kissed him when she thought he’d been asleep. The hesitation when she’d discovered he was awake. The decision she’d seemed to make before they’d made love.

No, he realized. That wasn’t making love. That was a goddamn diversion.

His vision dimmed, and that all-too-familiar sense of betrayal clawed its way up his chest.

She’d just fucked him again. And this time she’d done one helluva good job.

Omar Kamil hated exercise. Unfortunately, it was keeping him alive. Just about the only thing at this point.

Sweat poured down his forehead as he pumped his legs on the elliptical machine. Across the room, CNN ran nonstop on the flat screen mounted to the wall. He kept an eye on the ticker at the bottom, searching for any news on Katherine Meyer.

Nothing. No body. No death. No unexplained shootings.

That was both good and bad news as far as he was concerned. He drew in two deep breaths and felt his muscles burn with the effort of his workout

His cell chimed, and he flipped it open without slowing his feet. “Yes?”

“Not good,” Busir said. “We had a little trouble in Philadelphia. Bertrand showed up.”

Omar punched stop on the machine. “In fucking Philadelphia? What the hell is INTERPOL doing in on this? He’s
retired.
”

“Not so much, apparently. No matter, though. Fucker’s dead now.”

“Dammit.” That would draw major international attention.

“She got away in the scuffle. With Kauffman.”

That brought Kamil’s focus back around. His vision blurred, and he had to step off the elliptical to keep his balance. He was dealing with incompetents. How hard was it to find one measly woman?

“And your solution?” he asked calmly.

“He’s not using his credit card. We think he’ll try to take her to Miami. Where he can watch out for her on familiar turf.”

Omar snapped a towel from the table and rubbed it
over his face. “Or maybe not. Don’t you think he’d know that’s the first place you’d look for him?”

Silence.

Omar bit back the curse on his tongue. This was one fucking nightmare that wasn’t getting better. If he’d done the job himself six years ago, they wouldn’t be in this clusterfuck to begin with. And Minyawi—the dick—could bet his ass his payout was taking a cut for each one of his major screw-ups where Katherine Meyer was concerned. The man’s personal obsession with her was fucking up everything.

“They won’t go to Miami. He won’t risk it.” He thought about his options, then had an epiphany. “She’ll go to Latham.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants answers. He was the project leader, and he’s the only one still alive who worked that tomb.”

“And if she doesn’t go there?”

“Then she’ll head back to New York.”

“Why?” Busir asked again.

He really was dealing with imbeciles. But that was okay as long as they took the fall and he didn’t.

“Worthington security said they had an unidentified woman sneaking around the storage room. I’d bet my ass she stole something from the auction. A statue, a container, an urn big enough to hide the film from the camera she had that night in the tomb.”

“Her camera was in her bag the night of the bombing. She ran with it.”

Omar’s entire faced tightened. “That’s what she wanted us to believe. But she wasn’t in that bombing after all, was she? Which means her camera wasn’t there either. She must have hidden it, possibly sent it to Kauffman for safekeeping just before she disappeared. Look at it from her perspective. She finds out he’s going to sell it after all this
time, she realizes her one chance at freedom’s about to go in the toilet. She shows up at the auction house to get it back.”

He snapped his fingers as links clicked into place. “I’m betting she hasn’t even looked inside yet. Or if she has, what’s in there is inconclusive or damaged. If it wasn’t, she’d already have gone to the CIA, and I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“So if it wasn’t in the piece she took, where is it?”

Omar paced the small exercise room. “It wasn’t in any of the ones you purchased at the auction. I already had someone check them carefully. He paused as a thought occurred. “Athens. The Institute woman. She purchased several of the pieces herself, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make sense because Kauffman would have had it the whole time.”

“Maybe he didn’t know he’d had it.”

Busir was silent. Then he said, “You want us to check out the pieces the Greek woman purchased?”

“No. I’ll send another team to do that. I have something else in mind for you and your partner.”

“What?”

“I’m coming to America. We have a collection about to be shipped on loan to the Metropolitan Museum. I was going to send an assistant, but I believe I will accompany them this time instead, maybe drop in on Dr. Gotsi and see how she’s doing.”

“And what is it you want us to do in the meantime?”

“Get Minyawi and pay a visit to Kauffman’s sister. If he won’t cooperate, we’ll find a way to draw him out of hiding one way or the other.”

“What if Meyer goes to Latham?”

“Send Wyatt and Usted.”

“Usted’s dead.”

Omar gritted his teeth. “Then send Wyatt.”

Silence. Then, “Minyawi won’t like giving up the hunt for Meyer. He’s got a score to settle with the woman. It’s personal.”

Omar didn’t give a flying fuck about Minyawi’s personal goals. He wasn’t paying the man to go after his own vendetta. And as far as Omar was concerned, that went for Minyawi’s associates as well. He’d made them a lot of fucking money over the years for their cause. They could suck it up and step back on this one.

“He’ll get his chance. Just bring the Kauffman woman to New York.”

“I understand.”

“And Busir?”

“Yes.”

“Bring her to New York unharmed. Do not let Minyawi touch her.”

“That’s easier said than done. Minyawi is unpredictable.”

All the more reason to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Then you watch him. And if he gets out of control, you know what to do. I want Katherine Meyer, and I want that evidence she has. Nothing gets in the way of that goal. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

If she could shoot her new secretary and get away with it, she just might turn to a life of crime after all.

Hailey Roarke frowned as the door to her office was pulled closed and thought wistfully of her service revolver.
Too bad she’d had to turn the damn thing in when she’d taken her leave of absence from the Key West police force to come to this hell known as Roarke Resorts.

Her intercom beeped, and Gail-the-grim-faced-gate-keeper-Florentes’s nasally voice echoed through the room like a thousand fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. “Ms. Roarke. You have a call on line three. A Mr. Kauffman. I don’t recognize the name. Your nine o’clock appointment has been waiting to see you for over ten minutes.”

Hailey didn’t miss the implied lecture.
Peter Kauffman isn’t Roarke-related business, or I’d know. That means the call is personal, and that’s unacceptable. Make it quick. Your father’s lawyer is waiting.

On this one thing, Hailey knew she’d win. For the first time that day, a smile spread across her face. No way she’d ditch Pete for her father’s stuffy lawyer. She pushed the intercom button. “Thank you, Mrs. Florentes. Get Mr. Arnold coffee or anything else he’d like and make sure he’s comfortable. I need to take this call, and I may be a while.”

A disapproving harrumph came over the line. Hailey only smiled wider.

She picked up the phone, kicked back in her father’s plush leather chair and swiveled to look out the seven-teenth-story window at the skyline of downtown Miami. “Now this is a surprise. Word is you’re hunkered down nice and cozy in New York with the Euro-babe.”

“I should be so lucky.”

Hailey smiled wider. As her ex-husband’s business partner at Odyssey Gallery, Pete was one man she knew well and trusted implicitly. She considered him a personal friend and always would. “Of course, it begs the question. What are you doing calling
me
when you’ve got the Eurobabe all to yourself? Come on, Pete. Make my day and tell me she’s not enough woman for you or any other man.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not with Maria.”

Something in his voice made her sit up and shuck the sarcasm. Pete was rarely serious. A joker. A playboy. Everyone’s friend. He had those good-boy looks and that old-school attitude that put people at ease right from the start. Underneath that laid-back personality, though, Hailey had always sensed a hint of something dark, a past he never talked about. Which was why his suddenly serious tone set off big red flags in her mind.

“Well, now,” she said. “That’s a surprise. Lisa told me Rafe’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

“I lost my cell. How’s Rafe’s mom?”

Lost his cell? Pete? Uh-huh. Riiiiight.

Hailey watched a news helicopter circle the downtown area. “Stable. For now. She’s hanging in there. But they’re not sure how much longer.”

“Dammit. I should be there for him.”

Hailey’s chest grew tight as she thought about Teresa Sullivan. A woman who’d been more of a mother to her in a few short years than her own mother had been to her in all her thirty-four. Though Hailey and Rafe had divorced shortly after their impromptu never-should-have-happened Vegas wedding, they were still friends. And Teresa would always be family.

“Where are you?” she asked, pushing aside the pain just the thought of Teresa’s illness brought.

In the background she heard springs squeak, like from a mattress. “I don’t know. Somewhere in south Jersey, I think.”

“You don’t know?” Just what was going on? Last she’d heard from Rafe, Pete had left the wildly successful auction with the Art Institute of Athens’s slinky Maria Gotsi in a fancy limo and disappeared into the snow. Rafe had told Hailey he suspected the two were on the verge of something serious, though they all hoped that wasn’t the case. Maria was a tiger shark.

“It’s a long story.”

Hailey thought about what waited for her on the other side of the door. “Start talking. I’ve got lots of time, trust me.”

It didn’t take as long as she’d expected, but she had to finally shut her mouth so she’d stop saying,
really?
and
are you serious?
Because she was slowing down the flow. And because even she recognized she was beginning to sound like a broken record.

She knew about Pete’s shady past dealings. Hell, she’d been married to a thief who’d worked for him, so none of that was a surprise. She also knew he’d cleaned up his act over the past few years. So it wasn’t what he was saying that had questions firing off in her brain, rather what he was omitting.

Which, of course, piqued Hailey’s interest. On both a personal and professional level.

“You get a good look at the guy in the park?” A burst of excitement rushed through her. She’d been off the police force now for three weeks while she stepped in to help her father’s company during his illness. He’d asked for her help specifically, and she’d agreed only out of some morbid sense of guilt. This was not the job she wanted to be doing. And her father knew that. As soon as he was better, she was on her way back south.

“Yeah. Stocky. Medium height. About fifty, I’d say. Good shape for his age. Gray hair. Said his name was David Halloway.”

She made a note on the pad on her desk. “You don’t think he was FBI after all?”

“No. Definitely not. Hinted he was, though. Somehow he knew Slade, so he could have been CIA, but I doubt it. Gut feeling says INTERPOL.”

“Hm. Interesting. I’ve got a friend with INTERPOL. Jill Monroe. She used to be with the Miami PD.”

“That’s why I called.”

She didn’t miss the frown in his voice and smiled. It was sappy and pathetic considering she was now running a multimillion-dollar company, but it felt good to be needed. Not just used.

Hailey made another note. “I’ll call her. See if she can look him up.”

“I’d appreciate it. I also need some background information. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a few other things I need to wrangle, and considering what’s happening with Teresa, I don’t want to bother Rafe.”

“I’m happy to help out. What do you need?”

“Cash first of all. I don’t want to use my credit card in case they’re tracking me, and I’m about zapped out of funds. Can you get to Odyssey and have Liddy wire me some money?”

She made a note to call his assistant. “No problem. What else?”

“I need a list of addresses for the people Kat worked with in Cairo.”

Hailey scribbled on the pad at her elbow as he read off names. “I can do that, too. But why don’t you take the easy route and just ask her where these people are?”

He didn’t answer, and his silence made her pen stop its furious chicken-scratching. “Oh,” she said as understanding dawned. “She’s not there, is she?”

“Bingo.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Why do you assume it’s something I did?”

She smiled again. “Wild guess.”

“Well, on this one you’re wrong.” There was definitely a defensive tone to his answer. And it made Hailey sure there was more he wasn’t saying. A lot more.

Not that that was any of her business, though it was an interesting twist of events. Pete the ultimate bachelor had the hots for some wily Egyptologist, and she’d just ditched his ass for greener pastures. No wonder he was pissed.

“I’ll look them up for you,” she said to cut the guy a break. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “I could use a plane.”

Her brow shot up. “You want to take the Roarke Resorts’ Bombardier for a test flight while the bad guys are out there tailing your girl?”

“It’s not for a test flight,” he said. “I need to find her. Fast.”

Whoever this Katherine Meyer was, she’d done one helluva number on Peter Kauffman. “I don’t know,” Hailey teased, leaning back in her chair. “I could get into serious trouble appropriating company resources for private use like that. It goes against Roarke Resorts’ company policy.”

“Screw company policy. Like you’ve never broken the rules before?”

“Me?” She feigned shock. “I’m a police officer, Kauffman.”

“
Was
a police officer, Roarke. And not a very good one to begin with. Look, can I have the goddamn plane or not? I don’t have time to charter my own, and I don’t have a fucking clue where I’m headed yet.”

Desperate. Oh, yeah. He was seriously fucked.

“Relax. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Of course you can use it. I’ll call right now and have Steve fly up to Philly. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.” She dropped the teasing since it wasn’t doing much to lighten his mood and steered back to what was important. “Where will you be in an hour? I can probably get everything you need by then.”

“I’m not sure.” He hesitated. “Tell you what, I’ll call you. It’ll give me time to get a disposable phone and do a little research on my end.”

“Okay. Will do. And Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“She was wrong. Not to trust you. You’re one of the most dependable men I know.”

He was quiet so long, she wasn’t sure he was still there. Then she heard static, and his voice, filled with something that sounded oddly like regret. “Yeah, well, I never gave her many reasons to trust me.”

Before she could ask what that meant, his voice hardened. “I’ll call you in an hour, Hailey. And thanks.”

Then he was gone.

Hailey set the receiver down and stared at the notes she’d just made. She had roughly sixty minutes to do all the things Pete needed done in addition to running background checks on Katherine Meyer, David Halloway and Aten Minyawi. She’d definitely heard that last name before, she just couldn’t remember where.

As she reached for the phone again, she briefly remembered her father’s lawyer was sitting outside waiting to see her.
Screw it.
He could just go on waiting. She had more important things to worry about than Daddy’s will. There would always be tomorrow.

Kat stared out the bus window as she passed through the quiet streets of suburban Raleigh, North Carolina. Dusk was just settling in, and her butt hurt from the hours she’d spent on the Greyhound that had brought her here.

She’d switched to a Capital Area Transit bus once she’d reached Raleigh and was now tooling through North Raleigh on her way to the Brentwood neighborhood she’d marked on her handy little map. She seriously hoped the address she had for Charles Latham was still correct. It had been six years. It was possible he’d moved. Or died.

She prayed it wasn’t the latter. Of the four other archaeologists who had worked the tomb with her in Cairo, he was the only one left alive. A chill spread down her spine at the thought, but she pushed it aside. Car accident, heart attack, stroke—all normal ways to die. All ways that didn’t attract attention or cause questions. Even for men in their forties and fifties.

Convenient.

Too convenient as far as Kat was concerned. She’d kept tabs on everyone for safety reasons over the years. And when her colleagues had mysteriously started dropping off the radar, she’d known things still weren’t safe. It was part of the reason she’d stayed in hiding so long. Last she’d heard, Charles was still alive—though barely. He had cancer—inoperable—and was slowly dying. Had Busir let him live because the SOB had known Charles’s days were numbered anyway?

Possibly. Or the more likely answer was he’d been in on the smuggling ring with Busir from the very beginning.

Kat shifted in her seat, unsettled by the thought. Someone had to have been feeding Busir’s group information. Since her life—and Pete’s—was on the line, she intended to find out who that was. Even if it meant facing Charles Latham and wringing his dying neck to get the info out of him.

Kat glanced at her watch. It was nearly four o’clock. She wondered how long Pete had slept before he’d realized she was gone. He’d been exhausted, had nearly passed out after they’d made love.

Warmth rushed over her skin at the memory, and she closed her eyes and breathed deep. It had definitely been the wrong thing to do, but when he’d looked at her…oh, man, every one of her arguments had crumbled in her mind. She suddenly hadn’t been able to remember why she couldn’t have him. He’d tasted so good, felt so divine, and the things he’d done with his fingers and tongue had driven her completely wild until every no was a yes and she’d been begging for more.

The driver called out the stop as the CAT bus slowed, and Kat’s thoughts wound back around to what she had to do next. She grabbed her backpack from the floor and stood. The doors slammed shut behind her as she stepped off the rig, and the bus let out a whir as it pulled
away from the curb. She glanced around the aging neighborhood and checked the map she’d picked up at the transit station. Three blocks over, one block up.

“About time you got here.”

Kat’s pulse nearly stopped at the familiar voice, and she looked toward the bus stop where a man she couldn’t see was sitting on a bench reading a paper. As the paper slowly lowered, she drew in a sharp breath. “What are you—”

“Doing here?” Pete finished. “What the hell do you think I’m doing here?”

He rose, crumpled the paper and tossed it in a garbage can next to him.

He’d changed. He wasn’t wearing borrowed jeans and an old parka anymore. He was decked out in tan slacks, a white button-down and a slick leather jacket. He looked of power and money and ultimate sex appeal.

And there wasn’t one thing friendly in those eyes of his when they stared her down.

“How did you find me?”

“You mean after you fucked me senseless and left?” His eyes flashed. “That, by the way, was a great diversion. Can’t just wait for me to fall asleep on my own, so you screw me until I pass out and speed the whole process along. I’ll have to remember that one for future reference.”

Oh, yeah. This guy was way past irate and moving into livid territory. “That’s not what I—”

“You
really
don’t want to push me right now, woman. Because if you do, I guarantee one of us is going to get hurt and the other’s gonna get tossed in jail.”

She drew a sharp breath at the bite in his words and cut off her apology. Okay, she’d been wrong. His anger at Marty’s garage was nothing compared to what he was showing her now.