Love Under Fire Page 3

  Wild animals took notice of the time-honored signal and ran for their lives. He hadn’t been able to drag his gaze away.

  He’d yet to see a woman who could match her. Smooth, honey-colored skin all the way down to her toes; lush, rounded hips and long, long legs that were stepping into a pair of scarlet, silky French knickers. God knows how long he stood there caught in a trap by his hormones like a pubescent schoolboy. It seemed like forever. He’d wanted it to be forever, even while he recognized the danger as the elastic snapped on a scrap of red silk that would color his fantasies for the rest of his life, he’d known he should leave—get out of there quick. Instead he’d taken a step back, and watched her turn to snag a matching bra from the locker.

  Instant arousal!

  Her long tangle of black curls swung back, revealing the face behind their curtain. Strong features, straight nose, high Slavic cheekbones and lips that even memory couldn’t improve upon. All that before he’d seen her breasts. Once that happened, his hands itched to cup them and his mouth went dry at the thought of suckling their treacle-dark nipples.

  Honey and treacle.

  Poison where he was concerned.

  The last thing he’d wanted from life was to meet a woman who could tempt him to fall in love.

  So, he’d worked alongside her, knowing the pain he endured was nothing compared to the hurt that loving and losing her could bring. And he’d based his security in the knowledge that Jo couldn’t see him for Max, his best friend, and the man Jo loved.

  How was he going to get through this week and still maintain that distance? He’d shaken the dust of Nicks Landing off his boots once before and all he could think of now was how soon could he do it again?

  A week. Seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take a few if she wanted to sleep. It was going to be difficult working alongside Rowan. She’d never felt so unsure of herself in her life. Never felt as if her life was balanced on a knife’s edge with Rowan responsible for which way she’d fall. Never in all the years she’d known Rowan had she felt the mouth-gaping, heart-stopping attraction he had for her now.

  She and Ginny had more in common than she had realized, for when she looked at Rowan she didn’t feel any older than the kid she’d left downstairs with Sergeant Jackson.

  Why did it have to happen now, when she was on the most important case of her life, and the prize her father’s reputation?

  She took a deep breath and settled the squirmy feeling in her gut. “Okay. Here’s where we start. I’ll give you all I’ve got to look over….”

  Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly, their cool, flecked green at odds with the slight curl of his lips. “Generous of you, Jo, but don’t you think the work on hand should be our first consideration?”

  Well, she’d left herself wide open to that one and blushed. Rowan was sharp, too sharp, but maybe she could turn it to her advantage.

  “Exactly what do you think we’re investigating here, Rowan? Attempted murder, attempted suicide, or just plain old fraud?”

  Bull went first. “Jeez, Jo. This is Rocky Skelton you’re talking about. One of us.”

  Jo swung around. She could see everything slipping away from her, from her father. She wanted to shut up, hold her tongue and not get into trouble, but she couldn’t. “Great, well why don’t we ask Rocky to help out? It’s already turning into Old Boys’ Week around here.”

  She lifted one hand, not to swipe at the tears frustration had brought to her eyes, but to disguise them by brushing back her hair, and found her wrist enclosed in a firm grip. Rowan’s.

  His fingers burned where they touched her skin. She looked up, ready to tell him not to manhandle her, and couldn’t. One look at his face whitening under his tan and she was distracted. He didn’t look well. Maybe the tan was simply camouflage he’d gotten up in the islands where he’d gone for some much-needed R and R.

  Her mind drifted as his grip softened, warmed.

  “Okay, Jo, we’ll do it your way. Where do we start?”

  Chapter 2

  G et over it, McQuaid.

  The warning in Rowan’s mind didn’t go unheeded. It was simply impossible to implement while Jo’s scent filled his head with every breath. It was torture. Sheer bloody torture. And he was no masochist. Neither was he a coward, but what he wanted now was to exit her office without making an ass of himself, and take a few hours to get his act together. He was positive that’s all it would take. Just a little time to get his head on straight.

  The words on the papers he was supposedly reading merged into one, making nonsense of the evidence. The utilitarian clock on the wall behind Jo made it plain only an hour had passed since her arrival had caught him off guard. Eyes closed, his gaze turned inwards as if his parole lay in the dark behind his lids. Damn, this had to be the longest afternoon of his life.

  The hairs on his arms prickled each time she passed a piece of evidence, or pointed out a particularly interesting photograph. It was as if his body reiterated what his mind denied. He wanted to touch her. To hell with the weight of regrets lying in the pit of his stomach since he’d grasped her wrist and felt her heartbeat race under his thumb. Felt it pulse, tinting her soft skin blue, and still it hadn’t been enough. Not when he’d wanted the whole of her under him, naked and writhing as they joined for the first time right there on top of the desk.

  A wry grimace crossed his mind at the thought of Bull’s face if he’d actually given in to his urges under his old mate’s nose, so to speak. Out of the three there, he’d be hard put to say who’d be the most shocked. And with Bull out of the office, Rowan knew even that small hindrance to temptation was lost to him.

  Jo’s attention switched from the papers in her hand to her watch. “Hey, why don’t I just bundle this lot up and let you take it away to work on? I presume Bull won’t have any beef with that.” The pun lit a small smile in her features, the first to brighten them since they’d begun sifting through information which neither confirmed nor denied Jo’s theory of Rocky conning them.

  Shoulder level and palm out she raised her hand as if to say pax or peace. If only she knew. Peace could never exist between them while this primitive tempo surged through his veins.

  Then, very un-Jo-like, she giggled. “Don’t give me away. The one-liner was straight off the cuff, not a jibe at my boss. I can see how he got the name though, Bill Cowan. Bull. Perfect.”

  Rowan nodded. Old nicknames stuck, Bull’s and his, McQuaid, his middle name and mother’s maiden one. Back then he’d been a real pain in the ass about being half-Scottish, and he’d put it to good use when he’d decided to join the force because he answered to it naturally, and made the powers-that-be less inclined to nix his application. Sure, McQuaid didn’t have the same ring of power as Stanhope, but it wasn’t as tempting to the lowlifes he’d dealt with as Stanhope spelled R-A-N-S-O-M.

  Jo turned her back on him and stepped over to a gray, chipped metal stationery cupboard. She didn’t have the kind of walk that shouted, “Hey, guys, look at me.” She didn’t need it. The way her black linen pants curved into her waist, and fit snugly across womanly hips and thighs was enough publicity, a tall woman, neat without being skinny. But, hey, he hated skinny, and life would have been a lot easier if she’d been built like a plank.

  Jo returned with a large yellow envelope and passed it to him. “None of these are originals, so I’m sure Bull won’t mind you taking them home to study.”

  Though her hands worked quickly, collating photos and statements, she kept rearranging the order, as if changing her mind about more than the papers. “By the way, where are you staying?” she asked, as if she’d just that moment thought of it.

  Bloody hell! Was she about to offer him a bed? Petrified that he might be tempted to accept, he rushed out with, “I borrowed a boat from a friend. It’s at the marina. The Landings.”

  It was a lie, but a white one, or maybe gray. His brother, Scott, used the boat most of the time, though the craft belonged to the
family, two brothers and himself, all that was left.

  “Good. I was about to warn you against the local motel, an experience I never want to repeat, but a boat at the Landings, how lucky are you? It’s lovely along the harbor. I often go walking there. I might even know the boat. What’s it called?”

  “Stanhope’s Fancy Two.”

  “So, what happened to number one?”

  Trust Jo to pick up on a subject he wanted to avoid. “It sank,” he said, shrugging, as if the tragedy had absolutely nothing to do with him. Hadn’t changed his life at a time when his emotions still bled from the earlier blow. His feelings on the disaster were nobody’s business but his.

  It had been seventeen years since the boat went to the bottom. Everyone said Scott was tempting fate when he named the new boat after the first. But Scott didn’t give a damn. If it made anyone squirm to know their parents had drowned on the original Fancy, let them stay home.

  “You be careful.”

  “Didn’t know you were superstitious. Doubt it’ll come to much harm tied alongside.”

  “I guess not.”

  With everything in a pile, she squared the papers, bumping the bottom edges against the desk like playing cards. Her eyelids tilted at the corners as she watched him through long, thick lashes. “Hold the envelope while I slip these inside.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, suiting action to words, trying not to acknowledge certain parts of her anatomy might get too close for comfort, trying not to imagine touching them during the exchange. And knowing he’d be a darn sight better off setting his thoughts on leaving as soon as he had the evidence in his hands.

  “I take it you’ve heard of the Stanhopes? After all, they’re lending you their boat.”

  “You could say that, considering they have a substantial holding in Allied Insurance.”

  His answer achieved a lift of Jo’s dark winged eyebrows. Under them, stars twinkled naughtily in the dark brown depths. Rowan knew that look. Knew from experience the pull that teasing warmth had on his libido, and braced himself.

  “Then you’ll know they’re what passes for nobility round here. World famous in Nicks Landing.”

  Jo’s words hit a nerve. Luckily, he knew it was just her quirky sense of humor, she didn’t mean anything by it. She’d no way of knowing it applied personally. And no need to for the few days he’d be in town.

  “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

  “Guess my city origins are showing. No offence to the Stanhopes but it makes me laugh to hear the locals hold them in such awe when Auckland is swimming in millionaires. I heard they’re pretty lavish spenders though, so the boat must be out of this world. Maybe I could come down and let you show me around?”

  Not if I can help it! The Fancy was fairly large as boats went in these waters, but the thought of being in its confined quarters with Jo made him break out in a cold sweat. As far as he was concerned, this office was as up close and personal as he dared get with her.

  As if it had never come up, he deftly changed the subject, hoping he’d heard the last of the idea. Gauging the envelope’s contents with his hands, he remarked, “Not much here for two and a half months’ work.” His plan worked.

  “Got it in one. I always knew you were more than just a pretty face, McQuaid. Surely if they were satanists, we’d have found a lot more than this? Eyewitnesses at least. But no, we’re supposed to assume said satanists have the power of invisibility. Get real. And Bull doesn’t want to know. Far be it from me to cast aspersions….”

  She halted midflight as if waiting for a comment about glass houses and stones. He didn’t oblige. “You know Rocky used to be Bull’s sergeant, huh? Skelton could still have set the fire himself,” she continued.

  “Why? Why would he torch the place?”

  She looked surprised, as if suddenly finding him wanting. “Money, of course.”

  “How do you explain the cuts on his back?” He riffled the tops of the pages with a thumbnail. “Satan’s initials it said here.”

  “Self-inflicted.” Her tone said, “I ain’t taking any crap.” “You have to agree, they’re indecipherable. On the other hand, diving through the glass door could go a long way to explaining them.”

  “You really don’t like the guy, do you?”

  His question merited a minimal lift of her shoulders and a pout. “That’s neither here nor there. In all my time in Nicks Landing, I’ve never heard one whisper about satanists or black-magic cults. And Rocky can’t come up with a good reason why, if one existed, they’d want to roast him. Come on! The man’s lying. He pulled the story out of thin air, and now he’s stuck with it.”

  As if there had been a wind shift, she changed tack.

  Experience had taught him to be wary of that glint in her eyes. It meant she wanted something. “Getting back to the subject of money, does Skelton’s insurance policy have a clause setting aside his right to privacy once he makes a claim?”

  The glint brightened when he confirmed her supposition. “Most of them do these days.”

  “That’s it then. I think we’ve got him. You can look into his finances, banking and etceteras, where I can’t. The bar at the Hard Luck Inn couldn’t possibly cover all his expenses. Losing his shirt would be a helluva incentive for torching his house.”

  “Then why didn’t he simply sell the house?”

  “Molly, his wife. It was her pride and joy. I’ll take you to Rocky’s tonight and let you get the feel of the Hard Luck Inn. That should give you enough time to go over what you’ve got there.” She nodded toward the envelope. “Personally, I don’t think Rocky had any notion how prophetic the name of his bar would be. He named it that because he was made redundant.”

  Now that his afternoon and evening had been arranged to Jo’s satisfaction, all he wanted was out of there. It simplified matters to go along with her plans. “What time?”

  She picked up his business card and glanced over it. “I’ll call your cell phone when I’m done, and arrange a time.”

  From under her desk she produced a sturdy leather bag, too large to be called a purse, quickly slipping his card into a front pocket. Her next move set his heart racing. Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she slid her fingers through the long black silkiness of her hair before loosing it to fall in a flurry of waves and curls onto her shoulders.

  The movement lifted her pink shirt’s miniscule tail above her waistband, allowing a glimpse of smooth satin skin. Her pants slipped lower on her hips, and the shadowy hollow that was her navel, broke up the curve of her honey-colored belly. How would it feel to cradle his head on its softness and simply lie there breathing her in?

  Bad move.

  Rowan lifted his stunned gaze and swallowed hard.

  Their eyes caught as she tucked her shirt in, patted the side of her leather bag and started to walk round the desk. “Ready?”

  If he were any more ready he’d be lethal. He’d been half-hard for the past hour, and now he had an ache pressing against his zipper that had to be noticeable. Who’d have thought he’d ever be grateful for the protection of a yellow envelope.

  Waving his free hand in the direction of the door, he said, “After you.” Following the convention of ladies first, with heartfelt thanks.

  Jeez, she couldn’t believe she’d actually done that. Jo stood at the top of the stairs feeling ashamed of testing the waters the way she had, lifting her arms above her head, knowing it would emphasize her breasts.

  She’d watched him swallow the knot in his throat, an involuntary action that only confirmed he was human.

  Knowingly, she’d set out on this provocative path, hating to think the buzz zapping her nerves every time he glanced her way was one-sided. That all these hot, bothered and bewildered feelings affected Rowan not one iota. Honestly. Some people read auras, whereas she could sense Rowan’s presence even without hearing his tread on the stairs behind her.

  Where had it sprung from, this awareness? When?

  W
as it really new, or simply something she’d chosen to ignore? With each glance she’d cast his way, hoping he wouldn’t catch her, the hum in her temples increased and the blood in her head bubbled and fizzed as if she had the bends. She couldn’t remember getting this worked up over any man, not even Max Strachan, the last man she’d imagined she loved.

  Imagined being the operative word. God, he would have the last laugh now. Max, the one man who’d been honest with her, even if only to tell her she’d no shot of him ever returning her affections.

  And Rowan? She’d always thought of him as slightly uptight, at least in her company. First and foremost a by-the-rules guy. Never a step out of place until the last night they had worked together.

  On the only occasions they’d met since, he’d acted pretty cagey, accepting her apology for darn near getting him killed with his usual stony face. As if nothing touched him, not even death.

  So who had changed, her or him?

  Jo stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned, waiting till Rowan drew level. “I have business with Sergeant Jackson. I’ll call you this evening.”

  “No problem. I’ll walk with you. I want to tell the sergeant I’m leaving and thank him for his help. I expect to be in and out of the station house quite a bit. Might as well stay on the guy’s good side.”

  Jo rolled her eyes and shrugged, a small piece of body language she’d inherited from her Dalmatian grandmother along with her cheekbones and black curls. “Suit yourself.”

  What was he really after? It was unlike Rowan to be ingratiating. And how could he bear to watch Harry doing the work he’d had to give up? If she’d lost her job, the way Rowan had, she’d never enter another police station.

  Spinning on her heel, she marched along the corridor, her steps brisk, concealing her doleful thoughts. But soon her true nature won through. She had a comic mental flash of what might have been, if Rowan had still been there when she’d arrived with Ginny. She broke into a grin as she pictured Rowan’s face.

  All teenagers morphed into an alien life-form these days. What was the betting Ginny would have gone off the planet? Jo was grateful Rowan hadn’t heard the wolf whistle of approval coming from her car. With a sigh, she acknowledged she’d made a few hormone-driven moves herself in the last hour, as if her body had been taken over. The green light had gone on the moment he teased her about her offer to show him everything she had.