Authors: Lisa Eugene
Gabe walked past her into a large room that could only be the library, and she followed him, not wanting to be left alone. The walls of the library were covered with dark knotty pine occasionally interrupted by taxidermy mounts, and a far wall held a vast display of rows and rows of books from floor to ceiling. Her brows furrowed as she turned to stare at Gabe and she held her breath at the haunted expression on his face. His dark eyes were clouded with foggy emotion, and she had the visceral urge to hold and comfort him. She remembered he’d said his family used to visit this place and wondered if he was reliving some childhood memory. His family must have been close to the owners of this house. She still worried though about their intrusion into this private place. Perhaps they should’ve just moved to a different motel.
“What if the owners show up? Did you break in?”
He seemed to surface from his reverie to notice that she’d followed him. He stepped forward and pulled her into the steel cage of his arms, almost crushing her in his strong grip.
“They only use this house a few months out of the year and won’t come until late spring.”
She swiveled her head, now noticing that all the furniture was covered with large white sheets. At her continued frown, he pressed his lips against her forehead and issued reassurance. Her body loosened in his arms, the uncertainty melting away like warm butter from the feel of his heated lips. Her hand moved to rest on his left shoulder, and she remembered his shoulder wound.
“Don’t forget. The stitches have to come out today.”
He nodded and smiled genuinely. “Only if you go easy, Nurse Ratched.”
“Of course.” She rubbed her palms together and snickered an evil laugh, watching his smile bloom to its devastating fullness.
“You can go settle in upstairs. I’ll be up in a little while and you can have your wicked way with me. The master bedroom is the third door on the right.”
Gabe watched Maggie walk from the room and expelled the long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers and asked himself the question that had been plaguing him for some time.
What was he going to do with her?
She was an amazing woman. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. Crazy. And sexy as hell, with a latent wild side that whipped his libido to a rapacious frenzy. She deserved so much more than this chaotic, uncertain life he led. He knew he shouldn’t allow her to get so close, but felt utterly helpless when it came to her.
At the market when he thought she’d been trying to escape him, he’d practically lost his mind. The depth of his emotion scared him, rattled him to his core. He was supposed to be her protector, yet he knew he was her greatest danger. Whatever was happening between them could only end badly. He had too many demons, too many battles, too many things to atone for. She was right. The best thing would be to get the research back to its creators. He needed to finish this thing with Cane so they could get back to their lives. The wistful ache in his heart told him the sooner the better. He knew the only cure for his strange malady was to walk away.
And you thought to bring her here?
The castigation came from his conscience as he spun and scanned the room he hadn’t been to in almost a decade. Memories assailed him. He could see his father’s face clearly, hear his deep voice, and smell his woodsy outdoor scent that he loved as a child. Dark shadows seemed to float from the walls to seep painful awareness into his brain. His palms reached up to cover his face, to block out the flashbacks, and that was when he heard it. A slight rustle at the door caused him to spin and reach for the handle of the gun at his waist.
The dark figure filling the doorway looked just as surprised as he did. Perhaps even more so.
“Saints alive! Is that you, Mr. Masters, sir?” Bushy white brows pulled together to form a snowy range on a face that was mapped with age and amazement.
Gabe gave a sheepish smile and holstered his gun. He stared into the kind face of the caretaker of the Masters’ rustic retreat. “Hello, Cyril. Good to see you. Still sneaking up on me, I see.”
“My God. It’s been way too long, sir.” The old man shuffled forward to clap him on the back, his cataract gaze boldly exploring Gabe’s countenance. The deep furrows webbing his eyes snaked along his dark skin as his face cracked into an enormous smile.
Cyril Broves had been the caretaker of this Masters’ property longer than Gabe had been alive. He and his wife, Ronnie, lived in a small cottage near the main entrance and saw to the maintenance and general upkeep of the house when it wasn’t inhabited. Cyril was too old now to do any of the work himself, but he had a team under his direction who he managed dutifully. Gabe plucked fond childhood memories of the old man from an antiquated file. He’d spent many days of the long hot summers lounging in the cottage listening to stories of Cyril’s childhood in Barbados and stealing pastries from Ronnie’s oven.
“I heard a car pull in and came to see what was afoot,” he was saying. “I’m sorry the house is not prepared, sir. I wasn’t expecting your mother and brother until early June this year.”
Gabe waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be staying very long. And, Cyril,” he shot a quick look at the door, “please, dispense with the formalities. I have a young lady with me. As far as she knows, I’m a friend of the Masters’ family.”
“Very well. Whatever you wish.” The head of cottony hair gave a deferential bow. “The larder is well stocked, but there’re no perishable items. I can make a trip to the market in town.”
Gabe stood, thoughtful for a minute. “There are a few items I need, but Cyril, it’s imperative that no one knows I’m here.”
He watched Cyril nod again, his brown eyes shining. Cyril’s gaze flicked over the gun at his side and he seemed to understand. “Is it okay to let Ronnie know? She also heard the car pull in and will be curious.”
“Of course.” Gabe frowned. “I think she would tan my hide if I didn’t see her.”
“That she would,” Cyril replied knowingly, and they both chuckled, sharing the same memory. Cyril searched his face for several emotional moments, and then tilted his head. His milky eyes narrowed meditatively. “If you don’t mind me saying, sir. You’re the spitting image of your father, God bless his soul. I thought I was seeing a ghost. We sure miss you ’round here.”
Gabe nodded. The sudden closing of his throat rendered him speechless. He watched as Cyril turned to leave, his features crinkling with despair. “I’ll be back later for your list. Just ring if you need anything.”
“Stop moving!” Maggie lost count on how many times she’d had to chastise Gabe. He sat on the edge of a huge four poster bed with her jailed between his knees. She'd adroitly removed most of the stitches from his shoulder wound, and only had a few more to go. Afternoon sunlight showered the large master bedroom, streaming in through a bay of windows that arched high into the vaulted ceiling. She had no trouble seeing or severing the square knot at the ends of each of Gabe’s sutures, but his impatience was starting to thwart her efforts.
“You’re being a very bad patient.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head, but the smile playing on her lips belied her austere tone.
“Sorry, I’m very distracted,” he explained with a smile, his hands inching around her waist and sneaking under the hem of her shirt.
She scooted out of his reach, trying not to drop the tweezers and scissors she’d spent a half hour sterilizing. His naked shoulders rippled as he caught her hips and pulled her back into the circle of his arms and legs. Burying his face in the deep valley of her breast, he growled an animal sound of contentment.
“I said no bra, Maggie. Take it off,” he grumbled, trying to creep under her shirt again. The pads of his fingers brushed against her abdomen and she felt the sensation resonate to her toes.
She expelled a shaky breath then her lips slanted with amusement. “If you behave, maybe I’ll let the girls out. Now, if you distract me, they stay locked up—tight!”
“Girls?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he peered up at her with his chin resting on her bosom.
“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t distract me or I won’t do a very good job.” She leaned down and kissed the bridge of his nose. “Be good.”
He shot her a sexy lopsided grin. “Oh, I intend to be. Let the girls come out to play.” He pouted sulkily and she wanted to lick his lips.
Maggie rolled her eyes with affected exasperation and resumed her task, ignoring the sudden fluttering in her stomach.
“Tell me more about your plan to reach Dr. Rollins,” she coaxed, trying to keep him still. She also wanted to hear more about what he’d outlined earlier when he’d come upstairs.
Gabe kept his hands on her hips, but his expression grew serious. “I know the personal log-on codes Dr. Rollins uses to get into her email and some other medical websites. Assuming she hasn’t changed them, I can create a program that alerts me when she’s logged into any of these sites.”
“You said she wasn’t in the country. Would that be a problem?”
“It shouldn’t be. It’s all electronic media and global software.”
A buzz of excitement widened her slate blue eyes. “Then we can communicate with her?”
He nodded slowly. “Should be able to. I’ll have to breach the firewall to send something like an instant message.”
“So, it’ll just pop up on her computer?”
“Yes, but we have to sit and wait until she logs in. There’s a chance she may not log on to a computer at all.”
She frowned. “I can’t imagine she won’t.”
“I don’t know where in the world she is or what kind of access she has.”
“Wow. I hope this works. I didn’t think this technology existed.” She snipped the last stitch and slid the thread from his skin.
Gabe sat quietly. “The technology was perfected by Masters Communications almost a decade ago. It’s used mostly by the military and some special branches of the government. You need to know the user’s codes and specific configurations of the operating system. Once I’m in, I’ll get a better idea.”
Maggie nodded, impressed. She’d heard of Masters Communications. She’d seen their commercials on television and the company emblem MC on various electronic devices. In fact, when she turned on her cell phone the emblem popped up then faded away. She knew the company dealt with electronics and communication software. She never knew they had dealings with the military, though.
“Hmmm…what if it’s not her on the computer?”
“That’s another problem. There’s no way for me to know that someone hasn’t logged in to one of these sites using her codes.”
“Will she be able to send messages to us?” She used cotton to dab a small drop of blood that beaded at the edge of the wound.
“Yes, but we can’t talk for long periods.”
Maggie frowned and he expounded. “Think of it as a computer phone call. Like an IM. Someone with the right technology can trace the program signature back to its origin. We’ll have to keep our conversations brief. Also, I’ll have to figure out a way to chronologically auto-degrade the program so there’s no record of it.”
“English, please.”
He gave a boyish grin. “The messages would self-destruct.”
She caught her lip between her teeth and studied him, smiling. “Were you a computer geek in school?”
He nodded. “I was. Still am, but everyone says I inherited my father’s love for all things electronic.”
She held her breath, wishing for him to continue. She knew so very little about him that every tasty morsel he fed her made her crave more.
Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair and bobbed his dimpled chin at her instruments.
“All done?”
She took a step back to examine her handiwork. He followed her gaze.
“Well, Nurse Ratched?”
She wrinkled her nose at him, and then returned her gaze to the well approximated edges of his wound.
“Looks great. No sign of infection. You heal well. Just need to keep it covered for about another—”
Her last words were smothered as he pulled her forward, lowered her head and possessed her mouth with a drugging hunger. His tongue worked languidly into her warm heat, luring a moan from her chest. He sucked and licked her lips, attuned to her responses. She ran the palm of her hand across the smooth skin of his shoulders and back, enjoying the rollercoaster of muscles beneath her touch. Her fingers combed through his thick hair. Winded, she pulled back.
“Wait…when will we try to contact Dr. Rollins?”
“I’ll start working on it after.”
Bemused, she inquired, “After what?”
“After my playdate with the girls.”
Gabe pushed back from the table and uncoiled his large frame from the chair in one smooth stretch. He’d been staring at the screen for hours now while working on his intricate programming, and spots were starting to blur his over taxed vision. Earlier he’d moved the desk and computer into the alcove of the master bedroom and pushed aside the tufted fainting sofa and Windsor settee. All his mother’s furniture. He remembered the calm simplicity of Maggie’s apartment. He, like his father, never cared much for frippery. He remembered his dad’s growling complaints whenever his mother wanted to drag him antiquing.
Gabe smiled nostalgically. Jack would suddenly remember that he’d promised to take him hunting or to the track to race their cars. The two of them had been inseparable. More like brothers than father and son. Gabe swallowed at the painful knot in his throat, trying to work it down before it choked him. He couldn’t believe he was in this house. They’d spent so much time here. He struggled to suppress the memories. He couldn’t afford to let them take over, not when he still had so much work to do. He had to stay focused. A growl from his stomach reminded him it was almost dinner time, and he turned around, wondering where Maggie was.
When last he’d seen her she’d been helping Cyril put away the groceries he’d brought back from the market. She’d beamed when he’d handed her the bag of clothes that Gabe had put on the list. A smile tugged at his mouth as he recalled the way her pale blue eyes had lit up like polished diamonds. He checked his watch and frowned. That had been over an hour ago. He’d also allowed her another phone call to work and to her family. Although she’d complained about his hovering, he’d still coached her on what to say.