Carolina Heat (13 page)

“Sorry. I don’t normally jump to conclusions. You’re right. Chalk it up to a long day.”

“No problem.” She squeezed his hand and held it all the way to the airport.

Less than an hour later they knelt on the floor of Mrs. Haley’s spotless parlor. Vanessa’s tote and garment bags sat in front of them.

“Time you did the honors.” Mark patted the dark green bag. But Annabelle sat, unmoving.

“What’s the matter, sugar?”

Annabelle pressed her lips together and shook her head. A single tear trailed down her cheek. Alarmed, Mark pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently. She turned her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder and her chest heaved with dry sobs. With one hand he made long, comforting strokes down her back, keeping the other arm firmly tucked around her waist. They stayed pressed together for several minutes before Annabelle spoke.

“I’ve watched her unpack this bag so many times. Whenever she returned from a trip she’d call, and if I was in town I’d rush over to her apartment. We’d each have a margarita, and then she’d unzip her suitcase and tell me about the trip. The unpacking was part of the ritual.
I wore the green dress when I toured the White House. This grass stain is from falling off my horse in Montana
.” Annabelle’s voice trembled, and a few more tears rolled down her cheek. Mark began to run his fingers through her soft curls in a soothing rhythm.

“I covered my share of missing persons’ cases when I was just starting out. Since then I’ve read about hundreds more. I know the facts, the statistics, inside and out. Deep down, I’ve known the truth from the first moment. Vanessa is gone.”

The pain in her voice was raw. Excruciating.

“I’ve been scared for weeks at her silence. I was busy. Told myself I was paranoid. But now, sitting here about to unpack without her,” Annabelle licked her lips and continued. “I know it was nothing more than a fantasy. I’m too late to save her. No matter what I do from here on out, there’s no chance. Not after this long. If I’m lucky, I might be able to stop someone else from getting hurt. But she’s really gone.”

“Oh, Annabelle.” Mark tightened his hold and kissed the top of her head. There was nothing to say. All he could do was hold her tight. They sat twined together for a little while longer.

Annabelle sniffled loudly. “Aren’t you well-prepared Southern gentlemen supposed to have a handkerchief to hand a lady when she’s upset?”

“Sure – if this was 1867.”

“Fine. I’ll go grab a tissue and be right back.” Annabelle slipped out of his arms and left the room.

Mark rested his arms on his knees and dropped his head, sighing deeply. It didn’t feel like enough to him, just helping her grieve. He agreed the probability of reuniting Annabelle and Vanessa was slim. It made him long for the days when a man could prove himself to a woman by doing something simple, like winning a duel or marching off to war. The problems of this century were much more complex.

He looked up as Annabelle came back into the room. There was a determined glint in her eye, and he could tell she’d pulled herself together in those few moments. The woman had an inner strength that was flat out amazing.

“A good cry is supposed to be very therapeutic.” Annabelle fluttered her lashes and dropped into a thick Southern accent. “I’ll get some sleep and be fit as a fiddle by morning.”

Mark winced. “Your accent is painful. And picking up a few colorful phrases doesn’t make you any less a Yankee.”

“I don’t deny it for a second. After all, we
were
the victors,” she taunted.

“No, your great-great grandparents were the victors. I get so sick of groups like the Daughters of the Confederacy acting as if they were actually there that day, watching the North fire on Fort Sumter. It’s time to move on.”

“A very refreshing viewpoint I happen to agree with wholeheartedly.” She sank to her knees in front of the suitcase. “Let’s get this over with before I fall asleep right here on the floor.”

Mark put a steadying hand on her shoulder. She unzipped both bags and quickly emptied them. They worked quietly as a team, shaking out each garment to be sure nothing was hidden in the folds. It only took a few minutes to determine there was nothing for them to find.

Out of habit, Mark ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He’d spent most of the evening sorting through Annabelle’s story, organizing all the possible angles. “I see three possibilities.”

“All right Mr. hot-shot researcher. Time to strut your deductive reasoning. Let’s see if you and I circled around to the same theory.”

“First of all, someone might have already searched her room and taken anything incriminating.”

“But if someone
was
in her room, they would’ve taken her computer,” Annabelle pointed out.

“True—which brings me to my second option. Vanessa didn’t find anything, and therefore didn’t leave clues behind.”

“Nope. Doesn’t work for me either. If she wasn’t on the right track, why did she disappear?”

“Exactly. So possibility number three has to be the right one.” Mark beamed at her in triumph.

“Which would be what, exactly?”

“The bad guys were never
in
her room. Everything we possibly need to know is on her computer. We just have to wait for your brother to hack into it.”

“Looks as if you and I are on the same page.”

Mark detected a grudging respect in her tone. It was a first step.

Annabelle sat back on her heels. “It’s certainly the best-case scenario. Realistically though, I only expect to find a few basic leads. If there was anything truly substantial, Vanessa would’ve gone straight to the police, or at the very least, shot Ralph an email letting him know the trail was hot.”

“What’s our next move?” Mark asked.

“It may not be much, but the missing book from the plantation is all we have to go on. I think tomorrow would be a good time to pay Lamont Prescott a visit.”

Fat chance. “He’s a very prominent attorney. It won’t be easy to get an appointment on such short notice—especially if he
is
trying to hide something.”

She gave his cheek a playful pat. “You, sir, have forgotten the power of the press. The lure of the media. Once I mention Prescott Hall will be featured in my article, I have no doubt he’ll find time to see me.”

Mark cocked an eyebrow. “This is getting to be one heck of an article. Are you really going to write it?”

“I can’t let all those historical tidbits you keep tossing at me go to waste, can I?”

“But isn’t a travel article kind of a fluff piece for you?”

“It was Vanessa’s article to begin with, so I have to finish it for her. It’s what she’d want.” She ducked her head, then shrugged. “But I’d do it anyway. I love writing travel stories. I got my start writing for
Wanderlust
. It’s always a challenge to capture the character of a city; make it more than just a collection of shops, restaurants and hotels. If you do it right, the words on the page turn into sounds and smells and textures, like a magic carpet transporting you through the city.”

Mark saw the flush in her cheeks, heard the passion in her voice, and the bottom dropped out of his world. Finally. It was hard to believe, but sitting in front of him was someone who understood. “I know,” he said.

“You know what?”

“I know exactly what that feels like—but from the other end. When I do my research, people wonder how I stay awake, paging through thousand-year-old records of grain harvests or estate ledgers. But I take all of it and reconstruct a town, a kingdom, or even a civilization. Every tiny bit of information breathes life back into history.”

Annabelle’s mouth curved. “You constantly surprise me, Mark Dering.”

“If it makes you smile like that, I’ll plan on doing it a whole lot more often,” he drawled. He leaned in and captured her beautiful smile beneath his lips. His kiss was hard and possessive, but he drew back almost as soon as he started.

“I’d best be going. It’s late.” Raw, male pride swelled as he noticed her body still leaned towards him, lips still parted as if waiting for him to return.

“Oh yes, of course.” Annabelle followed him to the door.

“Call me as soon as you finagle your way into Prescott’s schedule. I'll pick you up and we can drive over there together.”

“You wait and see. I bet I get us an appointment before noon tomorrow, Mr. Skeptical.”

“Sugar, I just hope you’re right.” He tilted her chin up with one finger and looked into her eyes. “Be sure to lock the door after me. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble tonight.”

“I’ve taken care of myself in worse situations than this, I’ll have you know.”

“You are adorable when you get all high and mighty.” He chuckled as she jerked her shoulder away. “Look, you obviously know what you’re doing. I don’t doubt your journalistic ability or your self-sufficiency. But like it or not, it’s different this time. I’m involved; not just with chasing this story, but with you. And I want to be sure we both stay in one piece long enough to figure out where we’re going.”

“Okay.” Annabelle nodded. Then she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the doorjamb. “There you go again, sweeping my feet out from under me.”

“It has become a rather enjoyable habit.”

She opened her eyes, but stared fixedly at the floor. “I honestly don’t know what to do when you say things like that.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Mark stroked her cheek and marveled at the softness of her skin.

“I don’t know what to think.”

“You think way too much already, darlin’.”

She made a sound of frustration. “I don’t know what to say—”

“Don’t say anything. Just let yourself feel.” He swore, and closed the gap between them. A man could only resist for so long. He tried to do the right thing, tried to leave. But when she stood there, a mass of softness and confusion, looking so inviting, what was he supposed to do?

Mark lifted the heavy mass of her hair and nibbled on the back of her neck. She shivered reflexively. He continued around to the front of her neck and worked his way down. She swayed closer in an unspoken invitation. He took both hands and cupped her breasts together, and ran his tongue along the hollow between them. Annabelle pressed tightly against him, but it wasn’t enough. The need to touch her skin was overwhelming.

“Oh, Mark,” she breathed in his ear. His thumbs brushed over her already taut nipples, making her arch her back in an effort to fill his hands even more. He ran his fingers under the lacy edge of her bra, teasing both of them. His lips reversed their trail, back up her neck but hovering just short of her mouth.

In a move that delighted him, she yanked his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands underneath. The feeling of her soft hands finally on him melted his attempts at restraint. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her face up and kissed her. It was a searing, sizzling kiss that almost ripped his tonsils out. Their tongues mated in a sensual thrust and parry that drove them both wild.

She broke away first, and literally pushed him out the open door. A wide smile lit up her face.

“You have to go home now,” she said.

“You’re probably right. In fact, I think we mentioned it before.”

“Yes, well, this time you actually have to walk through the front door. Not to repeat ourselves, but it is late, and tomorrow promises to be busy.”

“Absolutely. In fact, I’ve just realized I need to do laundry in the morning. Probably run out to the store, too, before you call.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Laundry? You think about laundry while I kiss the stuffing out of you?”

“Made me think I should put clean sheets on the bed,” he said, matter-of-factly. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d react to the idea but it seemed like a darn good moment to plant it in her head. He braced himself for shocked outrage or red hot temper. Instead, he heard a high, girlish giggle.

“Maybe you should, Mr. Dering. Good night.”

He watched her close the door. Then, ignoring the porch steps, he put one hand on the railing and vaulted over. He narrowly missed landing in Mrs. Haley’s prized petunia bed, but didn’t even notice. Mark ran down the street in a burst of speed powered by equal parts lust and adrenaline. Five blocks later he was panting, but still amazingly turned on. The look on Annabelle’s face as she closed the door was a mix of seduction and promise. It was probably the most arousing look he’d ever gotten from a woman. Twenty minutes of jogging and one cold shower later, the memory of her look still kept him hard as a rock.

CHAPTER NINE

This was supposed to be his vacation. Mark’s mind ran over the thought like a tongue worrying a sore tooth. He had two weeks before he was scheduled to begin research at the College of Charleston. This was supposed to be his time to relax. Flip flops and the beach. Napping in front of baseball, maybe throwing back some beers with friends. Instead, he was in a stuffy downtown office wearing a damn suit. When he offered to help his sexy redhead, she never mentioned he’d have to parade around town sweating in a coat and, oh yeah, a tie.