to hold him down so he hadn’t revealed their hiding place. She’d been the one to get them most of
the way to Marathon. She’d been the one to deal with his bad mood until she’d fallen ill.
“Hailey—”
“No, Maxwell. It wasn’t Graham. So get that out of your head. We’re not dragging him into this.
His son just died.”
“How do you know he didn’t kill Bryan?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You saw him yesterday—”
“I saw a man who’s a pretty good actor.”
“—he was a wreck,” she said louder, rolling over him. “For all his flaws, Graham loved Bryan. He
didn’t have anything to do with what happened in Chicago. End of story.”
They stared at each other, tension filling the air like a helium balloon, until she finally gave up and
went back to her coffee. As she looked down, a blush crept up her face. She snagged the sheet to
pull it back up around her waist.
So much for that gorgeous view. Not that he couldn’t call it up in his mind now whenever he wanted. And so much for her thinking rationally where her family was concerned. Not that that was going to stop Shane from pushing Graham Roarke to the top of his suspect list.
Hoping to ease some of the strain between them, he lifted the bag at his feet and set it on her lap. “I
got you something.”
Cautiously, she set her coffee on the table next to him and peered into the bag. Then, though she
fought it, a wry smile spread across her face as she lifted the blue cotton tee and read the words
printed across the front:
I worked with Tommy on the docks
‘til the union went on strike.
It’s been tough.
I’m just sayin’.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Store down the road. You’d be amazed what’s open this early.”
“Not really.” She stared at the words, ran her fingers over the letters. “Tourist area. People are up
early here to avoid the heat.” Her smile widened. “I love Bon Jovi.”
He had a feeling. “Guy’s gone country.”
Her brilliant blue eyes slid to his, then back to the shirt. “Travesty. I still have hope he’ll see the
light, though.” She looked into the bag again. “What else is in here?”
He wasn’t thrilled they liked the same kind of music—classic ‘80s rock. “I figured you needed
something clean to wear. I got you a pair of those short pants, too. Had to guess on size, though.”
“Capris?”
“Is that what they’re called?”
She pulled out the khaki pants the girl at the store had helped him pick out and looked at the tag in
the back. “Pretty close. Thank you.”
Yeah, and his chest wasn’t swelling from her gratitude, especially when he’d been such a jerk after
that whole scene in the slough. “Look, Hailey, about what happened yesterday—”
“I really don’t want to talk about my father yet. I need more coffee first.” She folded the clothes
neatly and put them back in the bag. “What did you tell Chen?”
He clenched his jaw at her change of subject. “What little we know.”
“Did you tell him where we are?”
“Do I look stupid to you?” When she flicked a look at him, he blew out a breath and added gentler,
“Much as I trust Tony, the less he knows right now, the better off he’ll be. I don’t want him lying for
me.” Not again, at least.
He thought about telling her Jim Hill with the DA’s office had already figured out Shane and Hailey
knew each other and that he was jumping to conclusions about Shane’s involvement in her cousin’s
murder. Tony also had told him her father’s dagger had somehow gotten lost in evidence. But Shane
decided to keep both pieces of info to himself for now. Though her coloring was better, Hailey still
looked tired. And he didn’t want to overwhelm her if he didn’t have to. Besides, he still felt the need
to clear the air. “So about what happened at the slough.”
She reached for her coffee again. “Don’t worry about it. It was no big deal.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said. “It shouldn’t have happened and I was a jerk about it. So…I apologize.”
She sipped her coffee like a woman parched. “Seriously, Maxwell, no biggie. I’m used to moody
men.” She pulled her T-shirt down, then pushed the covers off and rose quickly from the bed.
He was momentarily distracted as he watched her long, bare legs move across the bedroom. Then
her comment registered. “I’m not moody.”
“You’re not quite as bad as Rafe, but you have your moments. I need to take a shower.”
“Hailey, wait. I’m trying to say I’m sorry here.”
“You did.”
She made it halfway across the room before he realized they had to be talking about two very different things. “Hold on. I think maybe you misunderstood.”
“No, I got it. Physical reaction, nothing more. I know you don’t want to be attracted to me, so stop
stressing.” She flipped on the bathroom light and started to close the door.
And that’s when he stopped thinking.
He was across the room in two strides, slapping a hand on the door and pushing it open before she
could close him out. “Wait a minute. You think I’m not attracted to you?”
Her huff was part exasperation, part embarrassment. “Look, I already said it’s no big deal, okay? I
know you’re only helping me as a friend and because of some loyalty to Lisa and Rafe. And though
I was a little resistant to it at first, I do appreciate it, whatever your reasons. So let’s not hash this to
death, okay? You’re a guy. You have reactions to…things. We’ve got other situations to deal with,
like—”
Reactions? Oh, shit. She thought he was talking about his hard-on.
“Stop.” He held up a hand. “In the first place, my sister has a ton of friends I wouldn’t help cross
the street, let alone fly around the country for. And in the second, the jury’s still out on Sullivan, so
don’t for a second assume I’m here out of some misplaced loyalty to him. You are right about one
thing, though, I am a guy, and I do have reactions to things, but if that’s all this is, then you tell me
how normal it is for a guy who’s not attracted to a woman to get turned on in the middle of a swamp
when he’s just been shot at and pretty damn near eaten for lunch? And you tell me why my heart
was in my throat the whole time we were at the morgue last night and you were lying on that table
barely moving.”
She stared at him. Blinked once. “How much caffeine did you have this morning?”
“Obviously not enough because you’re still not following anything I’m saying.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, I heard you. You’re attracted to me. So what? I know you don’t like it.”
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “It’s pissing you off right now, admit it!”
Before he thought better of it, he grabbed her by the elbows and pushed her back against the bathroom counter. “Does this feel like I’m pissed at you right now?”
“Maxwell—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her protest. His mouth was on hers before the second word was
even out. Before his brain clicked in to the fact she’d been through the wringer last night and didn’t
deserve to be handled so roughly just because he had a temper.
A muffled grunt came out of her as she opened to obviously tear him a new one, but he cut her off
by dipping inside for a lick before it was too late.
He tasted the coffee he’d brought her this morning and the sweetness he remembered from their kiss
in his apartment. As he changed the angle, he wrapped his arms around her to lock hers tight against
his chest so she couldn’t haul off and punch him. And when he figured he’d made his point crystal
clear, loosed his grasp and eased back a fraction of an inch.
She was breathing heavily as she stared up at him, but her eyes never left his. “Was that supposed to
convince me of something?”
“Yeah,” he said cautiously, watching for any sign he’d hurt her. He couldn’t see it. What he saw was
the same feisty woman he’d met in Key Biscayne. The same one who’d knocked him to the ground
in her resort’s gym in Lake Geneva. The same one who hadn’t backed down from him on her plane
when he’d gone to stop her from leaving.
Her ice blue eyes narrowed as her fingernails curled into his chest. “Word to the wise, Maxwell.
You can’t push me around like that and get away with it.”
A lick of pain shot up his pecs—one that felt way too good. “Too bad you liked it so much.”
“I don’t like arrogant, controlling men,” she said with eyes that told him just how much she did like
him.
“And I don’t like women telling me how I feel. You’re not in my head so—”
He didn’t get to finish his statement. Because her hands were suddenly in his hair and her mouth
was slanting under his all over again. And then she was pulling him back into her and kissing him.
Hard.
So much for not being in his head. Somewhere in his gray matter it registered that confrontation
turned her on and that he should avoid it at all costs where she was concerned, but that was part of
her charm. He liked that she wasn’t afraid of him, that she didn’t back down from a fight, that she
knew what she wanted and went after it. And oh, man, as she pressed up against him now, all warm
and soft and curvy in just the right places, he realized he didn’t care about what he should do and
instead focused on what he could.
Whatever measly brain cells were still firing shorted out with a pop that echoed through his entire
body. She was like a drug, one he couldn’t get enough of.
The phone in the living room rang. He ignored it, nipped her bottom lip between his teeth until she
moaned, then stroked his tongue against hers while her fingers tightened in his hair and her body
pressed full against his. Their kiss was a power struggle that he loved—her taking charge, his grappling for control—over and around until both of them were breathless and neither won.
His hands slid to her waist, and he lifted her easily to sit on the counter, then pushed his way between her legs to get closer still. She opened for him, licked into his mouth until his blood roared in
his ears. Her kiss turned frantic, her fingers sliding down his shoulders, his arms, to the base of his
T-shirt, up under to scrape along his skin. When her fingertips brushed the edge of the scar on his
side, he pushed it from his mind and gently guided her hand somewhere else. And though something in the back of his head screamed, Hello, moron. Do you really think this is a good idea?, he
ignored it. Ignored everything but the driving urge to get inside her. To let her take him wherever
she wanted to go. For as long as she wanted to go there.
The phone shrilled again. He kissed her deeper. Shifted closer, tried to push away the sound. Heat
from her body burned every inch of his skin, luring him in with the promise of ecstasy. Her fingers
wove back into his hair, and she pulled just hard enough so he groaned from the shot of pain in his
scalp. Then she arched against him, into him, until all his blood went due south.
Brrrriiiiiiing
“Goddammit.” He broke free of her mouth, stalked into the living room and jerked the phone off its
cradle. “What?”
Silence. Then, “Who is this?”
“Don-fucking-Juan. What the hell do you want?”
More silence, and then a chuckle came through the line. One he’d heard before. “I want to talk to
Hailey, Don. Is she there?”
Billy. Scowling, Shane looked across the room to where Hailey was standing in the doorway to the
bathroom, breathing heavy and looking so damn sexy with her blonde hair all wild and her lips
swollen from his mouth, he had only one instinct—to toss her over his shoulder and cart her off to
bed like the caveman he’d become.
She crossed the floor quickly and took the phone from his hand before he could do just that. “Hello?
Billy? You got my message. Yeah. I’m fine. What happened?”
Shane didn’t follow her end of the conversation because his brain took that opportunity to jolt back
into gear. As he watched her, all calm and collected as if the last few minutes hadn’t completely
thrown her for a loop like it had him, he realized she wasn’t just any feel-good drug to him. She was
the worst kind. Like meth. Overpowering. Blocking everything that mattered. One hit and he was a
goner.
His heart rate kicked up. And he knew, right then, why he’d really come down here after all. It
hadn’t been just to protect her or to prove to himself that he could. He’d been talking himself up one
side and down the other about being noble and doing the right thing, but that wasn’t what this was
about. This was about her. And him. And what he’d wanted to do to her from the first second he’d
laid eyes on her.
“Okay, Billy, thanks.” Hailey clicked off the phone and turned his way. “He’s got news for me about
Nicole’s bronze. We’re going to meet him in Miami in a couple of hours. I need to call Steve and
have him fly down and pick us up. It’ll be faster than driving.” Her brow wrinkled as she looked at
him. “What?”
He stared at her. Swallowed hard. Tried like hell to get his heart to stop hammering in his chest, but
nothing worked. “Who was the guy in the swamp yesterday?”
“What?”
“Who was it?”
She pursed her lips. He could see she was contemplating not telling him. And damn if that didn’t
piss him off. “I’m not sure.”
“But you have an idea.”
She hesitated. Finally nodded. Let out a long breath. “I think it might have been Paul McIntosh. But
I can’t be sure.”
“The guy with your father’s company?”
She nodded.
Good God, this family was like the Mansons and the Hiltons and the Rockefellers all rolled into