Secretly Craving You (3 page)

Although Emily was relieved to finally be done with the latest grand society wedding, an eerie sensation dogged her as she drove through the historic district of Savannah, turned down West Harris Street and parked outside her house.

After sliding from the car, she peered through the night at the street lined with restored eighteenth and nineteenth century homes. Light shone from several of their windows. Everything appeared normal, but the ancient twisted oak limbs dripping with Spanish moss blocked out most of the illumination from the streetlights.

She had never been afraid coming home late, but something felt wrong tonight. Listening, she heard nothing except the calls of cicadas and crickets along with the hum of distant traffic. Further down, someone walked their dog, and a jogger passed through Pulaski Square.

Emily climbed the steps onto her veranda. The front door stood open a crack. She froze. What the hell? Someone had broken in? A chill lanced through her and she ran back down the steps, stumbling halfway down. She grabbed onto the iron balustrade to keep from falling, her heart tripping along.

"Oh shit," she hissed over and over as she ran to her neighbor's house across the street. Fumbling with her cell phone, she dialed the police.

Who could've broken into her house? A random burglar or the person who'd murdered Jared?

* * * *

Forty-five minutes later, the cops had searched Emily's house, but found no intruder inside. However, one of the windows by the back door had been shattered from the outside. Apparently, the maniac had only left the front door open to let her know immediately he'd been there. When the police escorted her inside the house, she found nothing of value missing, not even her jewelry, but she did discover a few things out of place or knocked over, as if someone had been searching for something.

This couldn't have been Nick entering and searching her house again. He'd used a lock pick. Plus, he hadn't overturned anything or left a trace he'd been there. Very different from the current circumstance. The psycho who'd broken in tonight must have been the man Nick had talked about—the murderer who wanted some object Jared had. She shivered, nausea welling up inside her.

While the police searched for fingerprints around the broken window, she dug out the number Nick left and punched it into her cell phone. No answer. And his voicemail box was full.

"Dammit." She had to get in contact with him.

The cops were going to stay while she packed a bag so she could go to her friend Tia's house, but they received another emergency call. She assured them she'd be leaving within five minutes. One of the officers had been nice enough to nail a spare board over the broken window. She'd have to get an alarm system installed ASAP.

As she was packing her overnight bag, her home phone rang. She picked it up and the caller ID read
restricted
. Who could that be?

She frowned and placed the phone against her ear. "Hello?"

"Where is it?" asked the benign-sounding male voice.

"What? You must have the wrong number."

"Where is the
Clach Torach
, Emily?" he questioned in a more forceful tone.

A spider-like chill crawled down her spine. Was this the bastard who'd broken into her home and searched it? He knew her name, but she didn't recognize his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who is this?" she demanded.

"Don't lie to me! I know you have it."

Oh shit!
Clearly this freak was insane. She shivered. Why would he think she had something he wanted? Somehow this was linked to Jared's death.

"If you don't give it to me, you'll regret it. You better find it! I'll call you tomorrow and tell you where to bring it." The phone went dead.

Chills racking her body, she dropped the phone as if it were venomous. "Oh my god." Nick had been right. Some bastard had killed Jared over an ancient object.

Her fingers trembling, she dialed Nick's number again on her cell. She counted three rings. "Answer the phone. Please!"

An automated female voice came on again, telling her the voicemail box was full.

"Dammit, Nick. Why don't you clean out your voicemails?" She clicked the off button.

Since she'd first met him, she'd known he worked undercover. Could he be working a deep cover case now and that's why he wasn't answering?

She remembered what he'd said when he'd answered his phone in her living room. He'd mentioned something about Rebel's and she'd wondered what that was. Maybe she could find him there.

At her desk in the corner of the living room, she powered up her laptop and went online. A search for Rebel's Atlanta came up with a nightclub. Could that be where he was currently working? She had to give it a shot.

Since he was undercover, she'd have to be careful approaching him…if he was even there. She'd have to pretend to be someone else. And who knew what name he used?

Emily paused. Was this a smart decision? What other choice did she have if she wanted to remain safe? She couldn't stay with friends or family, putting their lives in danger from this psycho murderer.

Nick was a police officer who could protect her and he had a personal interest in this situation. If anyone could stop this bastard and put him behind bars, it was Nick.

To approach him in a nightclub, she'd have to pretend to be a sexy chick who wouldn't be shy about hitting on him. She'd need to look like someone he'd have a one night stand with. Since she'd been away from the dating scene so long—except for one hideous blind date—she had no clue how to be hot and flirty. But she could bluff.

In her closet, she drew a short black sequined dress from the hanger and slid it on. She hadn't worn this in over two years, but it still fit perfectly. Stilettos and darker evening makeup completed the outfit. Though she was in danger and might be certifiably insane for approaching Nick, a little thrill spiraled through her. She had never done anything this risky before.

Carrying an overnight bag, she rushed out to her car and took off. What would Nick say when she showed up? She needed his help, but she couldn't deny she was excited about the prospect of seeing him again.

After driving around Savannah for fifteen minutes to make sure no one was following her, she headed toward Atlanta.

* * * *

"Give it up, Rathburn. You've got no chance with her," Kurt muttered loudly over the pounding rock music and turned up his beer bottle to drain it. Kurt, the lead singer in the rock band Nick was using for a cover, was a fairly decent guy, but Rathburn, the guitar player, was nothing but a criminal.

Nick glanced across Rebel's crowded dance floor to see who Rathburn was harassing now. People moved in and out of his line of vision. He squinted through the dimness at the female in question.

Emily?

"What the hell?" Nick stood, almost flipping over his chair.

"What is it, man?"

I don't believe this.
He strode toward Rathburn and the woman he had cornered. A blonde who looked a hell of a lot like Emily, but with heavier makeup and a slinky, low cut, very short sparkly black dress. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

But the closer he got, the more his stomach knotted. How had she found him? And what was she doing here, dressed like that? Was she living a double life?

"Em?" He stopped beside Rathburn who resembled the grim reaper with his long black hair and black clothing.

Emily's face lit up. "I was looking for you!"

The other man sent him an evil-eyed glare. "Back off, Worth. I saw her first."

"You heard her. She's looking for me." Nick took her hand and tugged her away from Rathburn and toward the bar.

Rathburn would hold a grudge over this one, but it couldn't be helped. Nick had never been able to get along with the bastard anyway.

"I need to talk to you in private," Emily said.

"Let me buy you a drink, sweet cheeks."

She frowned. "I don't want a drink. I want—"

"Wait a sec, okay?" he said close to her ear in a more serious tone. Dammit, didn't she realize she'd walked into a snake den? And now he had to protect her and try to figure out how to get her out of here ASAP while maintaining his cover persona. Rushing her out like he wanted would come across as suspicious behavior for him.

"How about a margarita?" he asked.

She nodded. Why did she always have to appear so sweet and innocent, even with that heavy makeup? Maybe because he was used to hanging around women who were far more jaded.

He gave the bartender their order, scanned his surroundings, then faced her again. No one stood close enough to hear what they said if they kept their voices down. Besides, the loud music covered most other sounds.

He lifted Emily to a barstool. Her eyes widened. He leaned in close and spoke into her ear so no one would read his lips. "Don't look so shocked. What are you doing here and how the hell did you find me?"

He moved his head so she could talk into his ear.

"You mentioned Rebel's when you spoke to someone on your phone in my living room. I looked it up and found this place."

"Damn." She'd heard him? He'd been careless.

"Some maniac broke into my house and searched it tonight, but nothing was missing."

He muttered a curse, rage and concern for her safety burning through him. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried, but you wouldn't answer and your voicemail box is full. Why don't you ever clean it out?"

He felt like kicking himself. "I'm sorry." When he was undercover, it was dangerous to take calls and he'd had no time today to check his voicemail. "What happened? I want details."

"After the police left, this creepy guy called and asked, 'Where is it?' He told me the name of the thing he wants, but it was a foreign language. I couldn't understand the words. He said if I didn't give it to him, I'd regret it. But I have no idea what he's talking about."

"I knew it." So Jared's murderer was coming out of hiding, finally. Just the break he was waiting for. He only wished she'd caught the name of the object the bastard was looking for.

Most of all, it pissed him off that the psycho had threatened Emily.

After retrieving their drinks from the bartender and paying, he took a sip of beer and gave their surroundings a quick perusal. No one appeared inordinately interested in them, but the place had hidden cameras. The drug dealer he was investigating owned the bar and no doubt watched everyone via the cameras, especially people like Nick who was trying to get deeper into his organization.

"Don't drink too much of that unless you can hold your liquor," he told her.

"I won't." That had to mean she couldn't. She might get drunk from two sips for all he knew. And that would put them in a worse mess.

He pulled her close and pretended to talk dirty in her ear. "It's dangerous as hell for you to be here. I need for you to pretend to be my date. Follow my lead." When she nodded, he continued. "My name is Nick Worth. Yours is Emily Green. We went out one time before, last week. I'm the drummer in this band called Moonstone."

He had to get her out of here, but the band hadn't yet played their set and he never left with women this early in the night. He didn't want to deviate much from his normal MO.

"We're supposed to go on and play in a few minutes. All you have to do is act like a groupie."