Hold on to Me (34 page)

He was definitely lost.

Tick frowned at the map and driving directions Cookie had printed off the Internet for him. Two-point-one miles east. If he followed this, he’d end up…

He looked at the end of the dead-end street that widened into a parking lot, beyond which water glittered under the morning sun.

In the Gulf of Mexico.

That definitely wasn’t Court Avenue.

“Damn it.” He pulled into the next driveway to turn around. Give him a plain old-fashioned atlas any day. Impatience danced under his skin. He’d waited days, weeks, to see her and the little delays standing in his way were driving him nuts.

He pulled into the first business he came to, a sprawling shack-like structure labeled The Rooster’s Nest. The white gravel parking lot sat nearly empty, holding one SUV, an unmarked police unit and a wicked-looking black Jaguar XKR. When he stepped from the rental car and headed for the building, a warm breeze saturated with ocean and carrying the cry of gulls washed over him.

“Beyond tipsy. She’ll be hung over this morning. And I thought the old man would stroke out.” The taller of two men descending the creaking wooden steps spoke. Both in their late thirties, one wore a green sheriff’s uniform, the other sported impeccable navy slacks and a fine white shirt, expensive sunglasses hiding his eyes. He was the one speaking, his voice even and cultured. “It was actually rather nice. Like old times.”

“I bet.” The cop caught Tick’s gaze, spotted the Internet map and grinned. “You know, those are—”

“Shit. Figured that out.”

“Exactly.” The cop laughed. Tick shifted to get a better look at the guy in shades. Something about the man whispered of intense watchfulness and had all of his law-enforcement instincts coming to life. “Where are you going?”

“137 Court Avenue.”

The cop studied him, his gaze sharp and assessing. “The Cavanaugh house?”

“He’s here to see Cait,” Sunglasses said, sizing him up. Tick knew that look. He’d turned it on every guy who’d ever gotten within five feet of Tori.

Tick nodded. “Vince.”

Sunglasses jerked his chin at him. “Calvert.”

Deadpan, the cop looked between them. “Should I call for backup?”

“No.” Vince continued to watch him. “His intentions are honorable. That’s why he’s here. The question is, will she say yes?”

The arrogance didn’t sit well with Tick. He stiffened, his chest aching again, but damn if he would rub at it. “She will.”

The cop snorted. “You’re sure of yourself.”

Tick ignored him, still focused on Vince. “But what makes you so sure of yourself?”

“You’d be surprised what I know, hot shot.” Vince discarded the sunglasses, green eyes glowing in his tanned face. “For example, I know you made a little detour on your way here. I know in your pocket is a small blue box from Tiffany’s in Atlanta and in that box is a one-carat solitaire in a classic platinum setting. I know you spent a little more than the prerequisite two months’ salary on said ring. I also know you charged it to your American Express, which you pay off in full every month and have never been late on. I know you’re planning to propose to my only sister and unfortunately, I know she’s going to say yes, which means I’ll be stuck with you for the next fifty years or so. Anything else?”

“Yeah. You know how to get from here to 137 Court Avenue?”

Vince chuckled, a glimmer of respect appearing for the first time in his dark green eyes. “Come on.”

He’d only been two blocks away. Tick shook his head at the irony, unable to resist an anticipatory grin as he followed Vince’s sleek Jag around a sharp curve. The street opened into a neighborhood filled with massive old homes. Vince pulled into the circular drive before a red brick three-story, its white trim gleaming under the morning sun. Tick braked behind the other car. The foundation was high, and globular topiaries in varying sizes marched up the wide front stairs.

With one foot on the bottom step, Vince flipped through his keys. “I want you to understand this upfront. She’s the only item of true value in my life and I’ve already watched one man try to destroy her. If you hurt her, break her heart, hell, make her shed a goddamn tear, I’ll have you killed and your body dumped so deep in the Mexican desert that only future archaeologists will find you. Just so we’re clear on that.”

Was he supposed to be intimidated? “I’ll make sure my buddies at the FBI know to look your way first if anything ever happens to me.”

Seemingly satisfied now that he’d expressed himself, Vince jogged up the steps, swung the large oak door open and waved Tick through a vestibule that flowed into a larger, more formal foyer. Mingled scents of oil soap and fresh flowers sank into Tick’s consciousness.

Vince tossed his keys on a large silver tray atop a side table. His expensive loafers whispered over glistening hardwood floors as they passed through the living room.

Framed photographs in varying sizes lined the cream-colored walls of the hallway off the living room. Following Vince, Tick stopped, intrigued. He smiled at the pictorial history of Caitlin’s life, her memories and accomplishments. One included the same woman from the oil portrait over the fireplace, older, but her lined face still lovely, with a much younger Caitlin at her side. They stood on a rocky landscape, a deep blue-green ocean shimmering behind them.

Vince touched the frame. “Greece, when Cait was eighteen, the year before Grandmother died.” He tapped another. “College commencement ceremony.”

Tick recognized her graduation from Quantico. He smiled over a candid shot in which, clad in formal riding garb, she grinned at the camera. In another, she stood on the staircase from the foyer, in a simple black gown. The next snapshot depicted her among a bevy of laughing young women in light summer clothes, on a green lawn holding croquet mallets. Beside it, a more recent shot of Caitlin and Vince dressed casually in jeans and white shirts, seated on the house’s front steps, a fat beagle grinning by her feet.

In each, she appeared happy and secure, her eyes clear and unshadowed.

Something was missing.

Taking a step back, he studied the photographs as a whole and frowned as realization sank in. “Where’s her childhood?”

Vince’s face hardened. “She didn’t have one. My father saw to that.”

He spun, stalking down the hall. With a last glance at the photos, Tick trailed him into a massive gourmet kitchen where sunlight splashed on Mexican tile floors. A radio played, filling the room with soft strains of jazz and blues.

A round, petite woman in her sixties cast a long-suffering look in Vince’s direction as they entered the room. “About time
you
got home.”

“Good morning, Isabel.” Vince swept her into a hug, his tall frame swamping hers, and plopped a kiss on the side of her neck. She waved him away with a swat, all the while eyeing Tick.

He was being sized up again, measured, gauged.

Isabel added a glass of milk to the tray on the counter and studied Tick. “So this is the one.”

He wasn’t sure if that was positive or negative. Vince settled on a stool and slanted a mocking glance at Tick. “This is the one. Izzy, Tick Calvert. Calvert, Isabel Covas.”

Tick leaned forward to offer the woman his hand. “Ma’am.”

She grasped his hand in both of hers, her deep brown gaze locked on his a moment. Definitely sizing him up.

“She’s the heartbeat of the place,” Vince said, drawing their attention. A slow charming smile slid over his sharply angled face. “Not to mention the woman who ruined me for all others.”

“You.” Isabel rolled her eyes and made a clucking sound, still holding Tick’s hand. “You will never change.”

“Would you have me any other way?” Vince jerked a thumb toward the second set of stairs leading out of the kitchen. “Where’s Cait?”

Ignoring him, Isabel gave Tick one last look and released him. She pointed a bony finger in Tick’s direction. “
He
is a good boy. I can tell.”

One of Vince’s eyebrows rose in an askance expression. “From two minutes and a handshake?”

“Unlike you.” Isabel turned the finger on Vince, her eyes narrowed to slits. “
Tu…tu eres el nino del Diablo.
”

Tick swallowed a laugh at Vince’s outraged expression.

“Your grandfather has been looking for you, Vincent. He wants to play golf today and says do not keep him waiting.” She lifted the tray. An affectionate smile softened her face. “Miss Caitlin is on the patio by the pool.”

She waltzed up the stairs.

“Miss Caitlin.” Vince shook his head and went to the tall cabinets to pull down a tray. “You see how this is? Some things never change. She’s the favorite and I’m the spawn of Satan.” He paused in the act of transferring a coffee carafe to the tray. “Actually, that describes Father pretty well. Izzy might be on to something there.”

Tick ignored him, his gaze bouncing around the room.

He was waiting for me in the kitchen.

Caitlin’s tear-clogged voice echoed in his head and sent a frisson of ice trickling over him. This was the room where everything had changed, where he’d lost his child and almost lost Caitlin. His nape prickled and he looked around to find Vince watching him with unreadable eyes and a viciously hard expression.

“There. She’s herself in the rest of the house but she still can’t come in here.” Vince jerked his chin toward the tiled floor between the massive island and the staircase. His face hardened further, bordering on murderous. “I should have killed the son of a bitch that night when I had the chance.”

Tick nodded, a completely male understanding flowing between them before Vince lifted the tray bearing coffee, orange juice and an array of muffins and fruit. Tick opened the French door for him.

Outside, Tick found himself enveloped by a humid heat tempered by a brisk sea-scented breeze. After the episode in the kitchen, some of his edginess had returned, the healing incision at his ribcage pulsing. He’d had enough now; he needed to see Caitlin.

The flagstone patio wrapped around the side and back of the house, steps leading to a large turquoise pool shimmering under the bright morning sun.

Tick paused on the bottom step, recognition and anticipation flaring in him, followed by the sense of homecoming and rightness he associated with being in Caitlin’s presence.

Clad in a brown crochet tankini, she reclined on a lounger. A pair of sunglasses rested atop her head, and with her eyes closed, she tilted her face up to the sun.

Vince held a finger to his lips, a devilish glint in his eyes. He set the tray on a glass-topped table and adjusted the umbrella. “Well, good morning, Angel Face.”

Her face twisted at his words, but she didn’t open her eyes. “No loud talking.”

Her husky voice shivered over him and Tick eased down the final step and to the pool apron. He took advantage of the opportunity to study her, drinking in her presence after their enforced separation. The swimsuit concealed her abdomen and the scars, except for a glimpse of skin at her waist, but revealed the toned length of her legs. She relaxed deeper into the cushion, wiggling crimson-tipped toes as she did so.

“Ah, did someone overindulge a little last night?” A distinct bite entered Vince’s voice, an absolute warning Tick didn’t miss. The guy didn’t like him even looking in Caitlin’s direction.

An ironic smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “I can’t keep up with our cousins anymore. I think I had one Sunrise too many.”

“I have a surprise for you, sister mine.” Vince pulled out a chair, the legs squawking a bit on the stone.

“If it’s not six-foot-three, lean, dark and handsome with a wicked southern drawl, I’m not interested.”

“Him?” Vince settled into a chair, crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the crease in his slacks. He poured a cup of coffee. “Forget about him. I have it on good authority he’s off on a fishing trip with some little blonde.”

“Nice try, Vinnie.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Talked to him yesterday. I know exactly where he is.”

“And where’s that?”

She lifted her little finger and made a twirling motion around it with her other hand. “Right here.”

Tick swallowed a surprised laugh. He eased up behind the chaise, planted a palm on either side of the frame and leaned forward, his face directly over hers. “Really.”

Her eyes flew open and he saw the surprised joy bloom in the green depths as her lips parted on his name. An answering pleasure sparked in him. She straightened, winced, touched her forehead, and subsided. “Ouch.”

Tick chuckled and bowed closer over her to murmur, “Think I’m whipped, do you, precious?”

She opened her eyes again, giving him a glimpse of the need and desire he knew belonged solely to him. “I think you’re mine.”

“No think about it.” He tilted forward. “I’m definitely yours.”

She reached for him, linked her hands behind his neck, pulled him down. With the first touch of her lips on his, everything disappeared but her. He let himself sink into the kiss, making a lazy exploration of the sweet darkness of her mouth, the way kissing her upside down changed the feel of it.

Dear holy hell, he’d missed her.

A whole new set of fantasies kicked off in his head, of nibbling down her throat to the line of her cleavage above the swimsuit and lower…