Friction
Samantha Hunter
Sarah Jessup is supposed to be taking some R & R. A former hacker, she's now legit as a member of the crack HotWires team, investigating computer crime on Uncle Sam's dime. Taking her first real vacation in years means leaving the laptop–and handcuffs–at home. Or so she thinks.After one too many run-ins with sexy Logan Sullivan at the beach, Sarah is ready to indulge in a fling. Until she accidentally discovers he's a renegade cop on leave working a cold case–one involving an Internet sex scandal. Is Logan just using their relationship for cover? And how's he going to react when Sarah pulls out her own police badge?
Logan cupped her breast
Sarah closed her eyes, trying to shut out the thousand sparks of desire he was igniting. She didn’t want to feel these things, but maybe it was time to reclaim a part of her life again.
Shifting, she ended up solidly on top of him, pushing him into the sand. She pressed along the entire length of him, leaving her intentions in no doubt.
Sarah felt a rumble in his chest, a laugh maybe or a groan, as his hands closed over her buttocks. “Smooth move. Someone took some self-defense classes at the local Y?”
She just smiled, locking her knees around his hips before launching an assault on his mouth. Classes at the Y. Yeah, right. If he only knew.
And then before she could take her next breath, she found herself flipped over on her back. Logan settled between her sprawled legs, his hands pinning hers on either side of her head.
“Pretty smooth yourself,” she murmured. “You must have taken those same classes.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Sarah stared up at him wondering what he was planning. Hadn’t she made it clear she was willing? And ready, she thought, feeling his hardness pressing between her legs. Oh, was she ever ready. She was hot all over, and it wasn’t from the midday sun.
Dear Reader,
I hope you are as exited about Friction, the second hot installment of THE HOTWIRES miniseries, as I am. It was so much fun to get Sarah and Logan together in this book, even if they didn’t always make it easy. One of my favorite things about writing for Harlequin Blaze is that I get to create characters who deal with their deepest fears to discover love. Sarah and Logan certainly face these issues head-on, and with life-changing results.
I wrote this book in the middle of a frosty Syracuse winter, and it was a treat to visit the summer beaches and waters of the Chesapeake in my imagination while the snow was piling up outside. I hope Sarah and Logan’s passionate adventures will warm things up for you, as well!
All of the books in THE HOTWIRES miniseries are set on the beautiful Chesapeake Bay; as such, a percentage of the sales from this series will be donated to conservation projects in that area. Keep an eye out for book three, Flirtation, coming in February 2006!
Please stop by my Web site, www.samanthahunter.com, and see what’s new.
Samantha Hunter
Friction
Samantha Hunter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to all those who work every single day to return the Chesapeake Bay Watershed to being a healthy, vibrant environment. You rock.
Many thanks to Michael Perecca for his wonderful “walk through” of the streets of Brooklyn, and for inspiring me to go there to experience it for myself.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
1
SARAH JESSUP stretched languorously under the warm rays of the sun. It was late June and the Virginia Beach hotels were already packed. The beach was swarming with vacationers: children scooping sand into red buckets under the watchful eyes of their moms sitting in low chairs planted in the gentle surf and, of course, the see-and-be-seen bikini crowd. And Sarah definitely wanted to be seen.
She’d cut her long, curly, brown hair boy-short for the summer, which just served to accentuate the strong features of her face. Her huge blue eyes, hidden by her Jackie-O sunglasses, narrowed as she perused the scene. Leaning back in her chair, her pale skin coated with the highest-SPF sunblock she could buy, she bent one knee up, letting the flimsy material of the cover-up skirt—which really didn’t cover up much at all—float around her.
Sarah reached for more sunblock, spreading it along the tender skin of her thigh, and smiled coyly at some male passersby who clearly appreciated her efforts. She didn’t want a tan, but the bathing suit she wore exposed most of her skin to the sun—barring the few scraps and strings that held the thing together—so she was being careful.
Having grown up around New York City and used to northern climates, she’d just relocated to southern Virginia last August when she’d taken a new job as a computer crime investigator for the Norfolk police department. She never in her life imagined having such a perfect gig.
Up until she joined the unit, she’d been a computer hacker, making her living at various part-time jobs, though she did find occasional, profitable, under-the-table computer stints in Manhattan. It all paid the bills and allowed her to buy the gadgets she’d needed for her trade. There’d been plenty of full-time jobs available in the city, and with her skills she could have earned a decent wage on Wall Street, but that kind of work didn’t satisfy her. Money wasn’t her motivator; getting the bad guys was.
To that end, the larger percentage of her time had been spent in her tiny Brooklyn apartment, sitting in front of her computer tracking down Internet porn sites and clueing in the feds to what she’d found. She’d always loved the irony of breaking the law—which she’d done pretty much on a daily basis in her pursuits—to uphold it.
She had no regrets about any of the lines she had crossed in those days. The fact that she was a free agent had made her information valuable to the feds. She could go where the law couldn’t—not unless they wanted Congress on their doorstep.
Hackers were a tight community, and she’d been part of it. While she’d known people who broke the rules, most of them had been quick to help take down the real bad guys. They’d been her friends. They’d known what she was doing, though not why—and they’d never asked. But they’d helped her. And she’d helped the FBI, in turn.
That was how she’d met Ian Chandler, the FBI hotshot who’d fielded most of her information. When he quit being a fed to run his own team in Norfolk, he’d hired her as part of the unit.
Now here she was, gainfully employed doing what she was best at, earning more than enough to pay the rent and buy plenty more electronic gadgets.
Sarah gazed out over the hazy ocean horizon. She had been working constantly for six months; along with her work for the unit, she’d been attending an accelerated program at the Norfolk police academy, a requirement since she’d had no formal law enforcement training. She hadn’t had a day off in a long time, and she couldn’t have been happier about it. She loved her work. It was where she functioned best.
She smiled when a virile twentysomething paraded by, treating her to a view of his perfect backside adorned in skintight red neoprene surf shorts. Hey, so he was nearly a decade younger than her—she could still enjoy the view. His strong, tanned legs veed slightly as he stood in front of her talking on a cell phone. She reached down and unlaced the knot at her waist, releasing the material of her skirt altogether and bending forward to fold it neatly before leaning back.
He shifted, taking a slightly different angle—the phone not quite where he needed it to have a conversation—and her attention perked. Stretching again and letting one foot fall teasingly over the side of her chair, her toes playing in the sand. She wanted to make sure she had his attention.
She had it, all right. And him.
She waved flirtatiously, though he appeared to be looking elsewhere. He froze.
Bingo.
In the next second, he was off like a shot and Sarah was after him. He was fast, but he wasn’t any match for her. At nearly six feet tall, she was all legs and she could move. She was also very, very motivated.
The hottie ran out of steam quickly and turned, panting, smiling at her engagingly.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
She smiled, inclining her head in his direction. “Same backatcha.”
He looked nervous. Good. He should be. She stepped a little closer, her tone friendly. “Beautiful day out here, isn’t it?”
He looked around and stepped back. “Yeah. It’s great.”
“And yet I can’t figure out why people who come to this beautiful, relaxing place would want to spend time talking on cell phones.”
“Some people have business.”
“And what kind of business do you have?”
She saw the flicker of panic and knew she had him. Any playfulness left her tone.
“Why don’t you hand over the phone and we’ll talk about the pictures you were taking of me back there?”
He grinned, though it wasn’t a charming smile. “You’re nuts, lady. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? C’mon. My guess is you got some pretty good close-ups of my boobs and crotch, but you know, it was easy—I really didn’t even make you work for it.”
He looked from side to side and flipped the phone nervously in his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to call a lifeguard in a minute.”
“Go ahead. You’ve been working this beach for a few weeks. I’ve seen the pictures that are ending up on the Web—pictures of women you’ve turned into your unsuspecting models—and you know, they really aren’t very flattering pictures.”
He stared at her for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. Then, he threw the phone toward the surf and took off.
“Damn!”
Sarah lunged for the phone and managed to catch it midair just before it was washed over by the foamy surf splashing up on the sand. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she was back up in a second and racing down the beach. Her body flew through the air a second time and she managed to catch him by the ankle, pulling him down hard. She winced as she felt something sharp dig into her thigh, but she ignored it.
All of her attention was on maneuvering herself around to sit on the creep’s lower back, dropping down on him hard and smiling when she heard the air whoosh out of him like a deflating balloon. She planted her heel firmly at the base of his skull and pressed, ever so slightly. She looked over to see the phone lying safely in the sand, and a lifeguard running in their direction.
“What’s going on here?” He looked at her bleeding leg. “You’re hurt.”
Her quarry started to speak, and she applied just a little more pressure with her foot, pushing his face into the sand. It was gratifying to hear him spitting in between curses. She felt the jab in her thigh again and nodded, “I think there must be some glass in the sand there—it’s just a cut.”
“Let me get my first aid kit, but, uh, maybe you should let that guy up?”
“Nope. He’s under arrest.” She smiled. “Sarah Jessup, Norfolk PD—sorry, I don’t have any ID on me at the moment.” She gestured to her scantily clad form. “This man is wanted for criminal activity in Norfolk and the surrounding area. I’d appreciate if you could call your local precinct for me and report this.”
She rattled off the number and her badge number. “They’ll confirm who I am and send someone to help me out. You can use that.” She smiled, pointing to the phone lying in the sand. She enjoyed the poetic justice of using the creep’s own phone to call the bust in.
The lifeguard looked a little confused, but complied, handing the phone back to her when he hung up. There was definite interest in his eyes as he took in her long limbs and flushed cheeks. He let his fingers brush hers when she took the phone, but the look she sent him told him clearly she was all business. He shrugged his tanned shoulders, heading back to his chair. Sarah poked some buttons on the phone and groaned, addressing the perp.
“Aw, man, you suck. Don’t give up your day job to be a photographer. I’m nearly naked, posing for you and that’s the best you could do? I mean, jeez, you’re blocking the light standing there. And that is by no means my best side.”
She smiled with satisfaction, clicking the phone shut and sitting back to wait for her backup. She bounced a happy little bounce on her captive’s kidneys, happy to have both perp and evidence in hand.
Listening to the spits and sputters of the man she was holding immobile, she looked out at the gently rolling waves of the Atlantic as people walked by, gawking. She shrugged.
“Just doing my part for the environment, folks. Getting garbage off the beach.”
A FEW HOURS later Sarah sat typing up the last of a report, reaching down every now and then to rub her thigh, which was aching like crazy now that the local anesthetic had worn off. She hated being made to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t get out of it. Officer wounded on scene; it was procedure.
The six stitches she’d had to get hurt more than the initial wound, but, as she’d learned at the academy, procedure was everything. It took some getting used to, all the rules and regulations and paperwork—but it was all worth it. She loved her job.
“Hey, what happened to you?” The concerned voice that had her looking up came from one of her partners, E. J. Beaumont, known in some circles as Ethan Jared Beaumont the fourth, which she called him when she wanted to get his shorts in a knot. E.J. was the other member of their three-agent team. He wasn’t alone, she noted, eyeing the beach babe standing in the doorway behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Forgot my cell phone last night. Came back to pick it up.”
Sarah arched an eyebrow, making sure her voice was low enough for just the two of them to hear, “Looks like that’s not the only thing you’re picking up.”
E.J. grinned, wicked mischief in his eyes. “You know, they say life is a like a box of chocolates, and I’d like to sample all I can.”
Sarah laughed in spite of herself—contrary to the evidence at hand, E.J. was a real southern gentleman. Refined, intelligent and wealthy as sin, his family owned a local ship-building company. She would have expected him to be a total snob and a real bore, but he was neither.
He was a great cook, a handsome devil and a decent man. He’d given up control of his family’s company to follow his heart, returning to a career in law enforcement. In the process he’d broken off his engagement with his high school sweetheart and had thrown himself headfirst into a very happy bachelorhood. Sarah wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him with the same girl twice.
They’d hung out, at work and socially, keeping each other company, talking shop. At one point, he’d actually tried his charms out on her, and while she might have been the teensiest bit tempted—he was good-looking, after all—she’d shut him down. They were colleagues, and, to an extent, buddies. In a completely platonic way, she loved E.J. to death.
Then her boss, Ian, showed up in the doorway, passing a curious glance over E.J.’s “date,” who fluttered her eyelashes in appreciation of Ian’s dark good looks, before turning his attention to Sarah.
“Full house today. They called me about the bust, said that you got hurt. What happened? Are you okay?”
His arms were crossed over his chest, one dark eyebrow raised as he leveled a look at her that she’d gotten used to. Still, there was approval in his eyes, something she yearned for on a very basic level—the recognition of doing a good job, being believed in, making a difference.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Then, in a more smartass tone, “Nice shirt, boss.”
Ian looked down at the wildly patterned Hawaiian shirt that was open at the chest, and shrugged.
“Thanks. Sage bought it. She said it was “me.” We’re headed for the beach today. You know, to hang out, maybe cook some hot dogs. E.J., why are you here?”
“Just stopped by to get my cell phone and saw our girl working as usual.”
Sarah glared at E.J., who, smiling, just popped on his Ray-Bans, then slid his arm around his date and, with a wave, headed for the door.
Ian turned to Sarah. “I think today was a day off for you, too, right? Time to relax and leave work at the office?”
There was a not-so-subtle tone of accusation in his voice.
“Hey, I was very mellow until that idiot started taking pictures of me for his Web site. I’m sorry they called you, though. It’s just a cut. I’m fine.”
“No problem. I want to know when anyone is hurt. But the point is you shouldn’t have been working, so I guess it was all incidental—it’s not like you’ve been tracking him or anything like that, right? You had no idea he would be there? It just…happened?”
She knew he knew better, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
“All work and no play, Sarah…” Ian shook his head.
“Would you rather I’d let him go? Have you seen that Web site? He’s been at it for months, taking pictures up unsuspecting women’s skirts in the park, in the mall, but the beach photos were the worst. Virginia is one of the few states that actually have active laws on up-skirting, and I intend to put them to good use.”
To make sure she was getting her point across, she added, “Think about it, Ian. How would you feel if it were Sage’s parts put up on the screen for the enjoyment of the general public?”
Sarah knew she’d hit a nerve when something dangerous flickered in her boss’s eyes. Sage, Ian’s fiancée for several months now, was the center of his life. Sage had been a convicted felon serving out a five-year prison sentence, with Ian monitoring every detail of her life for the duration. They’d gotten together when Ian had been forming the team on the request of the department. E.J. and Sarah had been Ian’s backup when they’d gone after one badass computer hacker, a former lover of Sage’s who’d set her up to take the fall for a computer virus he’d created and unleashed.
It had made for an odd courtship, to say the least. Sage had almost lost her life helping them catch the hacker who had victimized her. When all was said and done, though, her record had been cleared, and for the last year she’d been busy establishing her own computer security agency. In the meantime, Ian was becoming impatient waiting to make Sage his wife.
But then he smiled. “You’re right, of course, but you do need to take a break. You’re going to burn out.”
“I feel fine.”
“I’ve been where you are, Sarah, and I had to learn the hard way that it isn’t worth it. All you do is work. You need more balance in your life.”
“I like to work.”
Ian glanced at the clock. “I’ve gotta get moving, but I’m serious. You’re working way too hard—” He held his hand up to stem the objection about to pop from her lips. “You’ve done a great job, I’m not complaining, but I want you to take a break. I’m granting you an immediate vacation—starting Monday.” He appeared to think about it for a second and spoke again, “No, starting as soon as you leave today. No work. Play only. Two weeks. It’s an order.”
Sarah had a hard time believing what she was hearing—he was forcing her to take a vacation? Wasn’t that against the constitution or something?
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want or need a vacation. You can’t dictate my free time. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself anyway, and I—”
“Exactly. That’s the problem. You don’t do anything but work. Sage and I went to a nice resort over in Cape Charles—it’s small, more like an inn, and it’s close. You can get there easily. I’ll make the arrangements and all you have to do is show up on Monday. And no laptop. In fact, you can leave it here. With me.” He shot her an evil grin. “And they don’t allow cell phones at the resort. Or PDAs. Just so you know. If they find them, they’ll ask you to store them in their office until you leave, so as not to disrupt the other guests.”
Sarah felt the color drain from her face.
“No, Ian, please, I—”
“You’re going. Either that or you’re enrolling in the stress relief program that they’re starting up this week. Make your choice.”
Sarah felt her breath come up short—how could he? The stress relief program was a nightmare—everyone was doing whatever they could to avoid it—six weeks of deep breathing and sharing your feelings. God. It was a numbers game, she told herself. Two weeks of torture was better than six.
“Fine. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll go.”
Her voice was tight and unhappy, and Ian chuckled, shaking his head and turning away. “Sarah, I want you to enjoy life a little. I want you to relax, have fun. Maybe you’ll even like it.”
Sarah fell back in her chair, the ache in her leg throbbing more insistently as she grumbled to herself about her predicament. Vacation? No computer? No cell phone? No work?
And here she’d thought Ian liked her.
LOGAN SULLIVAN paused for a moment on the steps leading up to the broad wraparound porch that hugged the sides of the Chesapeake Inn. He felt as though he was walking into one of those old plantation-style mansions he’d seen in the movies. Colorful flowers and ivies grew everywhere, and large fig trees sprawled in the side yard. Wicker furniture was placed strategically around the large porch, some chairs grouped together if guests wanted to socialize, others tucked away in corners if they wanted to relax solo.
Not fifty yards away the Chesapeake Bay stretched out before him. The water was calm today. The Eastern Shore was a stretch of sand only a bit more than a mile wide, the Bay on one side and the ocean on the other. The little town of Cape Charles was at the southern base of the shore, its tip at the mouth of the Bay. The city of Norfolk, part of the area known as Hampton Roads, formed the other side.
Logan was familiar with the area, having lived in Maryland his entire life. It was a marvelous place for a vacation, and in his loose khaki shorts, white T-shirt and worn leather sandals, he looked every bit the vacationer—which was how he wanted it. However, vacationing was the last thing on his mind.
Hefting his bags up the stairs, he opened the door and walked in, the air-conditioning hitting him like a wave. Though the hot weather didn’t bother him at all, he still found the coolness refreshing. And the heat here was different, nothing like the suffocating heat he’d gotten used to in Baltimore. Here the air was clear and a soft breeze came in off the water, stirring the leaves on the trees. It was pleasant.
A cheerful woman—a slim blonde who was, he guessed, in her late fifties—rounded the corner, her face the very definition of welcome. She reminded him a bit of his mother, or his childhood memories of her.
“Hello! I’m Karen Sanders. You must be Mr. Sullivan. Welcome to the Chesapeake Inn. Are these all your bags?”
Logan smiled. It was impossible not to, her friendliness made him feel at home. “No, I have more in the car, but I’ll get them. This is a gorgeous place you have. Is this all work from local artists?” He stepped forward, looking at some of the pencil sketches, metal sculptures, and several watercolors capturing sunsets over the Bay and other coastal scenes.
“Yes, we only feature local art, and most of these are for sale, so let me know if there is anything you are particularly interested in. The Shore has a very interesting and varied history, you know. There are several tours you can take, but much of the art tells the story as well.”
“I’m looking forward to learning about it.”
“Let me get you registered and show you to your room. We have a number of brochures that outline some tours and destinations that might interest you. We also provide equipment, kayaks and canoes, crabbing supplies and other things to keep you busy. Or you can just be quiet and relax, if that’s your pleasure.”
Logan nodded, knowing he would have to partake in at least some of the activities she discussed—he had to keep up appearances. Picking up his bags, he started to follow the woman past the large spiral staircase into the main room, where he could see the antique cherry registration desk, behind which was located a small office, discreetly hidden from view.
No one else was around; the other guests were probably out enjoying themselves. But before they could take more than a few steps the door opened again, and they both turned around to look.
Logan’s mind went blank when he saw the woman who stepped inside. Tall, almost as tall as he was at six foot two, she was breathtaking—and strong, carrying two huge suitcases as though they were nothing. He observed the smooth, supple muscles in her upper arms and raised an eyebrow. Her short hair was a little spiky at the top, an interesting contrast that accentuated her fine, classic features.
She wore large, dark sunglasses perched on a perfectly shaped nose, so he couldn’t see her eyes, but it was her mouth that fascinated him. Lipstick-free, not too full, her lips looked sweet and soft enough to eat, coming together in a natural pout that had him wetting his own lips as if in anticipation of a taste.
When their hostess moved past him to launch into her welcome routine, the woman pulled her sunglasses off and Logan was mesmerized by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. A small smile warmed the woman’s cool features as she held out her hand to the hostess.
“Hi, I’m Sarah Jessup. I’m sorry I’m here a little early, but I didn’t know how long the drive would take. I hope it isn’t any trouble.” She looked at Logan, and then back to the hostess. “If you’re busy, I can walk down to the beach or catch some lunch.”
“Oh, no, no, dear, you’re fine. Come on in, and we can get you and Mr. Sullivan all situated. It’s nice for guests to meet each other, as you all will bump into each other during your stay. I do believe you and Mr. Sullivan are both scheduled for extended visits—two weeks, is that right?”
She looked questioningly at him, and he confirmed her claim with a short nod. The new arrival also looked back at him, then stepped forward and held out her hand.
“Well, then, hello, Mr. Sullivan. I’m Sarah.”
Her voice was clear and pleasant, and he detected a strong northern accent—pure New York City. It sounded good on her. She was a tough cookie, he’d bet. And a delicious one, too. He smiled.
“Logan, please. Nice to meet you.”
As he closed his hand around hers, electricity sparked between them, and Logan felt a heat invade his body that had nothing to do with the summer weather. He watched her azure eyes darken—she’d felt it, too. She dropped his hand a little abruptly and, breaking eye contact, turned back to Karen and her bags.
Intrigued, he watched the tall beauty pick up her luggage. His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she moved past him, the confident stride of her long, long legs. Logan thought he might have to make some time for fun after all.
SARAH LOOKED out the window of the quaint yellow room that she’d been shown to and admired the gardens below. A large fig tree stood beneath her window, shadowing the grass below. She licked her lips—she loved the sensual, sweet taste of figs.
Though it wasn’t something she talked about much, she loved gardens. She used to spend hours walking the gorgeous pathways of the Brooklyn botanical gardens, and she’d always especially enjoyed the pockets of green among the city concrete where people grew tomatoes on stoops and had window and rooftop gardens, some of them very elaborate. Pops had had a rose garden on his patio that professionals would have envied. He used to give her roses to take home every summer; her grandfather was the only man who’d ever given her flowers.
Her bags were not unpacked yet, and she turned to open them where they lay on the large, high bed. The room was small, but light and cheerful. Ian was right, the resort was more like a bed-and-breakfast than a resort—she had expected flashy, impersonal accommodations and crowds, bars and beaches, but this was very personal and…quiet. Maybe a little too quiet for her taste.
She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, especially not to Ian or anyone she worked with, but she missed the city and the beautiful borough of Brooklyn where she’d spent the past ten years. Living in Norfolk wasn’t bad, but being here, where it was so slow and un-crowded, well, it made her nervous. Antsy.
The teeny apartment she’d had in the city wasn’t much, a small flat on the third floor of a converted brownstone on St. Mark’s Avenue, one of those built for the burgeoning working class. It was homey, though she was never much for interior decorating. But then again, she didn’t need much.
She’d spent most of her time alone, and when she didn’t want to be alone, she could open her window and listen to the noise on the street below. When she’d wanted company, she could sit on her stoop and chat with her neighbors, or go for a walk along Flatbush Avenue, listening to the people around her chatter in an array of languages. She’d picked up some Spanish living there, but didn’t know enough to really communicate fluently.
Sometimes she’d treat herself to a Junior’s cheesecake—reputed to be the best in the world—and stop by to see how old Mr. Sanchez was doing. He’d managed to hold his ground and not be pushed out of his lifelong home as building owners started renovating in order to raise rents and attract wealthier, younger Manhattanites. Just a month after she’d moved, he’d passed away from pneumonia.
She wondered who’d moved into the place now that he was gone, and a strange sense of hollowness overwhelmed her. She thought of his smile as she stared down at the fig tree, and spun away from the window, needing to get out and away from her dark thoughts.
Brochures littered the desk by one of the tall windows, things to see and do, but she walked past them. She just needed to escape for the moment. If she was going to be stuck here, she had to find something to do, but touristy activities weren’t usually her thing.
True to Ian’s promise, she had seen a sign when she arrived instructing guests to shut off their cell phones, and there wasn’t a phone or a TV in the room—one phone and one TV were in a central room downstairs. The only computer in the place seemed to be the one the hostess had used to process reservations; otherwise it was really a low-tech operation.
She was going to get the jitters if she didn’t keep herself busy. Curiously, an image of Logan popped into her mind as she walked out of her room.
2
LOGAN LAY on the sand, letting the heat soak into his skin as he forced himself to be oblivious to everything and anything as he sank into an afternoon nap. Focusing on the repetitive wash of waves rolling onto the shore, his muscles seemed to loosen, the sand cradling his body like a hug.
Naps were a luxury he almost never allowed himself, but he had to appear to be a committed vacationer. Just a guy trying to decompress from a very stressful time at work.
A shuffling in the sand interrupted his meditation and he opened his eyes to see a deliciously curved female bottom clad in the briefest of shorts, the cuffs of which graced the undersides of shapely thighs. Those were some legs. He could just make out the edge of a white bandage covering one thigh and frowned—she’d hurt herself.
It didn’t stop him from admiring the feminine musculature as she braced herself in the deep sand, her bare feet planted firmly as she bent over the task of opening the beach chair that she’d apparently rented from the vendor on the sidewalk. The chair was not cooperating.
Logan helped himself to a long, leisurely view of her legs as she held the stance, smiling when she muttered something at the chair while struggling with it. He was about to offer assistance when she finally popped the contraption open, the sudden jolt of energy propelling her backward toward him.
He braced himself for impact, but she regained her balance at the last moment, though the halting action kicked sand up into his face, fortunately missing his eyes. He sputtered, wiping the grit from where it stuck to his damp skin. The beauty returned to her spot about ten feet away without so much as a second glance, sinking down into the chair, unaware she’d plastered him with sand.
He watched her stretch out and start to read, and figured the show was over. Moments after he lay back down and started to reenter that fuzzy stage of napping he’d worked hard to attain, an odd mumbling sound disturbed his concentration.
It was coming from the woman in the chair. He propped himself up on one elbow. Was she talking on a cell phone? Sitting up, curious just because, he got just close enough to hear….
“…and he laid her back, gently, as if she was the most treasured thing he’d ever had in his possession, and stared into her eyes as his long, thick hardness throbbed inside her.
“‘I want all of you, Rose, and I want you to take all of me….’”
Whoa! What the heck? Then Logan realized she was reading aloud to herself, a racy novel, apparently. She wasn’t speaking loudly, but in a soft, throaty mumble that certainly made him want to hear more. He leaned in and listened a little more closely.
“‘Please, Russell…I love you. I need you. I need…more!’”
Russell? Russell and Rose? Logan quirked a grin. This was pretty good.
“She tightened around him, waves of pleasure crashing through her though she tried to hold back, but Russell wouldn’t let her. He thrust himself into her, pushing red-hot pleasure through her like a sword that pierced her completely and took her breath away—”
“Okay, now that just doesn’t sound like fun.”
He didn’t realize the comment had actually come out of his mouth until the sexy mumbling ceased. The woman swung her incredible legs over the side of the chair, peering at him over the same stylish sunglasses she’d been wearing earlier that day when he’d met her by the door of the inn. He hadn’t recognized her from the rear view, nice as it had been.
“Pardon me?” The sexy whisper she’d been reading in shifted to a cool interrogative, and he cleared his throat. There was something about when a woman peered over the top of her glasses that was so totally sexy and completely intimidating. Especially when paired with the high cheekbones and those amazingly shaped lips. She caught his gaze and held it. Not that he was intimidated, even though her tone remained cool and challenging.
“You have an opinion you’d like to share?”
He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly and charming manner. “I thought the whole sword piercing thing didn’t sound very…romantic. Or pleasurable. I wouldn’t want a woman to feel like that when I was, uh. You know.”
A delicate eyebrow raised, and her head cocked sideways as she blinked at him.
“When you were…what?” Her tone was innocent, but suddenly he felt like a mouse being batted around the kitchen floor by a cat. He leaned in a little more closely, softening his own tone, meeting the challenge.
“When my thick, throbbing hardness is buried inside of her.”
He’d give her credit; she didn’t even blink and didn’t back down. She looked back down at her book, studying it for a moment, then looked back at him.
“Actually, it was his long, thick hardness throbbing inside of her.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up a little more next time, so I get it right.”
“Maybe you should be minding your own business.”
“Hey, you were reading out loud—Sarah, was it?”
“Still is.”
“Well, I was sleeping, but you kicked sand in my face when you stumbled back from that chair, and you’ve interrupted my nap—twice. I couldn’t help but listen in, you were reading aloud for everyone to hear, and since I couldn’t sleep…” His words were accusatory, but his tone wasn’t, and her smile twitched then widened as she shook her head, giving in.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you could hear me. When I pulled up you looked dead to the world. I would have sat farther away, but I really wanted to find a spot that was out of the way of the action.” She looked out at the busy beach, her beautiful blue eyes drifting over the children playing and a group of teens playing volleyball.
“No problem. What are you reading?”
“A book I found in the room.”
“You like romances?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. I like romantic suspense more than this kind of thing. This is pretty boring, really.”
“Even with all the sword-piercing pleasure and such?”
She smiled again, looking at him fleetingly then turning her gaze toward the water of the Bay. He sensed that she wasn’t really seeing him or any of the beautiful scenery around her. She’d retreated, and he could feel the distance between them in her next words.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She started to swing her legs back over the chair, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet.
“Why do you read out loud like that?”
She looked back, obviously wishing she’d been able to succeed with her abrupt dismissal, but then stopped and shrugged.
“I spend a lot of time in front of a computer. Sometimes the surroundings are noisy, so I read out loud while I work, it makes it easier to concentrate. I guess it just got to be a habit. I never really noticed.”
“That makes sense.”
She tipped her sunglasses back up on her face, fully covering her eyes. “Sorry again for bothering you.”
“No problem.”
When he lay back on his towel, all he could hear was the slosh of the waves and the voices of the volleyball players. He almost asked her to start reading again.
SARAH HELD her book in front of her face, but she couldn’t concentrate on Rose and Russell’s antics anymore, not that she had been all that into it in the first place. The sex being described on the page had heated up considerably when the man behind her had decided to share his opinion on what a woman felt when a man was inside her.
It was something Sarah tried not to think about too often. She knew a lot about sex, more than she wanted to. She was exposed to the seedier side of it as part of her job, and suffice it to say it was nothing like what Rose and Russell were experiencing.
She snorted softly to herself. Nothing about sex was like what Rose and Russell were experiencing. Sex could be fun and relaxing at best, and as for the worst, well, she wouldn’t go there. She saw too much of it in her work. Her job allowed her to think she’d made a difference in the world, but along the way, she knew something inside her had been irrevocably lost.
That sense of loss, combined with scars from her past, had left her sleeping alone for several years now. She’d gotten used to it and even preferred it; she knew how to take the edge off when she really needed to. Men were an unnecessary complication, and sometimes a dangerous one.
So why, when the gorgeous man sleeping on the sand behind her had looked at her in just that particular, teasing way, and had offered her a smile that made her toes dig down in the sand, had she not shut him down as hard as she usually did? Why had she talked with him—even flirted a little—and felt a…tug? She wanted no part of tugs.
Tugs led to pulls, and pulls led to grasping, which inevitably led to sliding, pushing, rubbing and thrusting—ahhhh!
She threw the book down on the sand, disgusted and appalled that just thinking about it had her nipples poking through her tank top and her thighs flexing slightly in response to her unwanted desire.
This was totally out of character. She wanted to kill Ian for sending her on this vacation.
“It sucks that bad, huh?”
And sucking. Yes, tugs could lead to sucking, too. And licking…. Oh, damn, just stop already!
Sarah drew a deep breath. Logan had spoken to her again, but she was determined to just ignore him this time.
“I thought you were napping.”
So much for ignoring him.
Vacation was obviously playing havoc with her normal sense of independence and self-control.
“I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too worried about what was happening with Rose and Russell.”
She wanted to laugh and had to choke it down.
“The usual. Piercing and poking and such.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Some people are into that.”
“Are you?” The question was baldly stated and openly curious. He was flirting with her. Well, she would put an end to it.
“No.”
She rose, struggling with the stupid beach chair once again. The stupid joints wouldn’t bend, corroded by salt or age or something, and she grimaced, putting as much muscle into it as possible. The chair gave way, the metal bending under the force of her efforts, the joints popping altogether.
“Ouch. You sure wrestled that into submission.”
Didn’t this guy ever quit? Still, something about his light, teasing tone and comment broke through her annoyance, and she shook her head, chuckling lightly.
“It really wasn’t a fair fight.”
“Understandable. The chair is clearly an unworthy opponent.”
Was he suggesting that he would be worthy? She stood, picking up the broken chair, looking down at Logan and feeling that stupid, aggravating tug yet again.
Okay, so he was eye candy. Lean and tall, he lay over the sand with the kind of reckless sexuality that probably made women turn to jelly with just a glance, though he didn’t seem to be posing. He wasn’t leering or posturing, he was just…lying there.
His lean legs stretched out before him, feet half-buried in the sand. The light scattering of dark hair over his legs continued upward, gathering into a light seam over his flat stomach that thickened a bit on his chest. He had strong shoulders and tight, well-shaped arms. Nice chin, good cheekbones. Firm lips. He was what she’d always thought of as “whiplike”—thin and sinewy, stronger than someone might assume at first glance. Probably fast.
There was a straight, white scar on his shoulder, about two inches long, and she almost asked him where it came from when she realized she’d been staring.
Damn. When caught, pretend not to notice, and then run as fast as you can.
He was looking up at her silently, waiting for her to finish her obvious inspection. He wasn’t the outdoorsy type, she guessed. His skin was not quite as light as hers, but it was clear he wasn’t used to being out in the sun.
“You’re going to burn if you stay out here much longer.”
With that clipped statement, she turned and walked toward the sidewalk.
She hadn’t made it halfway across the beach when she realized he’d caught up and was walking beside her. He stood just a little taller than she did, which meant he was at least six foot, maybe a little more, since she came in at five-ten in bare feet. When his arm brushed up against hers, she subtly stepped to the side as she kept walking, not wanting the contact.
“I’ll vouch for you that the chair broke when you sat in it and let the vendor know he should be lucky if you don’t sue him.”
“It didn’t break when I sat in it.”
“Just trying to save you an argument.”
She slid him a sidelong glance. “He won’t argue with me.”
A moment of silence as he digested that.
“Where are you from?”
“Brooklyn.” Regardless of where she lived now, or where she was born, she would always be from Brooklyn.
“Really? Your accent is certainly that of a New Yorker, but I wouldn’t have guessed Brooklyn.”
“I don’t have an accent.”
“Okay. Right. So what do you do in Brooklyn?”
He was not going to be easy to discourage. She looked at him through her shades, knowing he couldn’t see her eyes. She wasn’t really annoyed with him, she was irritated with her entire situation at the moment. She let that fuel her tone as she shut him down, once and for all.
“Listen, slick, thanks for the conversation but I’m not interested, okay? Have a nice nap.”
Turning to walk away, she didn’t look back as she left him standing quietly behind her.
LOGAN STOOD on the sand and felt put in his place, good and proper. Granted, he hadn’t dated in a while, and his social skills were probably a little rusty, but…ouch. And given the classic male sense of the hunt, wanting to go after things that presented a challenge, he was even more interested now.
He watched her hand the chair to the sidewalk vendor, who appeared to be apologizing profusely, his eyes level with her breasts the whole time he spoke. Sarah put one hand on a cocked hip and shot the other one to the guy’s chin, nudging his eyes up to meet hers. Whatever she said to him had those shocked eyes widening and he nodded quickly, handing her money back and not letting his gaze dip south again.
Logan smiled widely to no one in particular. It was clear Sarah was a woman who could take care of herself and who didn’t suffer fools lightly.
She’d shut him down, but he hadn’t mistaken her slight flirtation with him earlier, when he’d caught her reading. And even as she told him to pack sand, so to speak, her nipples budded endearingly against the soft material of the tank she wore.
Was she as interested as he was? He felt a curl of heat in his belly and knew he wanted to find out. He was male, she was gorgeous and he was on vacation, right?
Normal physical desire, effectively erased by the enormous stress he’d been under, suddenly thrummed through his bloodstream again when he pictured Sarah’s mouth. He could imagine kissing her, tasting her, and let himself imagine her wrapping those lips around him in the most intimate way….
He dropped back to his towel just in time to stretch out on his side lest anyone notice the somewhat untimely erection that sprang to life in response to his thoughts. He was reacting like a horny teenager, but he didn’t really mind, though true, it was inconvenient to be sitting here in public with a boner. It took him by surprise that he wanted her so distinctly. He took a deep breath to calm down and reminded himself why he was really here.
Finding out what had happened to Melanie, his partner for eight years on the Baltimore police force, that was his goal. Mel had had some problems, sure—especially right before she’d disappeared, she’d been on a disciplinary office suspension after having a few too many one night while on duty. She’d been dumped by her fiancé. And shortly after that, she’d had a violent encounter in an alley, as well. Both had left her nerves frayed, and her normally sound sense of judgment weakened by self-doubt. But she was a good cop, and a good partner. Logan believed that then, and he still believed it.
She’d thrown the suspension back in their faces, taking vacation time and heading to Virginia Beach. It was the last anyone had seen of her until some ugly photographs had surfaced during another investigation—explicit, pornographic footage in which Mel was clearly the star.
The department was concerned about its public image, but they also considered her trouble waiting to happen, and no one seemed to surprised she’d gone off the deep end and gotten involved with a bad crowd. A really bad crowd, by the looks of it. Though they’d made the appearance of an investigation, there was no concern about foul play, since she was obviously alive in the photos, and they hadn’t taken too seriously the fact that no one had heard from her in three months. That was six months ago, almost to the day, and though it seemed logical that she wouldn’t want to stay in contact with her friends and family, Logan’s gut told him there was more to it, and he couldn’t let it go.
He couldn’t drop it, though he’d been warned to do so. He knew Melanie, had spent hours every day with her, seen her put her life on the line just like every other cop did. She wouldn’t have just dropped everything to leave town and pick up a gig as a nude model—a polite description of what the pictures illustrated—even if she was going through a really rough patch. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t seem to convince anyone else of that. He needed evidence.
So he’d made it his personal mission to find her again, or at least to find out what had happened to her. Doing so had taken over his life, interfered with his work, though he’d tried to keep his investigation low-key. He wasn’t in love with Mel, but she’d been a good cop and deserved better than she was getting.
She’d been a close friend; he’d met her family. He’d eaten dinner with her parents. And he knew firsthand what it was like to lose people who were close to you, what it was like to lose family. How could he face her family or tell them he’d given up?
The trail had led him here. But he had to be smart about it, because he’d been ordered to take a mandatory leave when he’d tried to make his case to the captain, to show him the new leads he’d found. When they’d refused to budge and turned their backs he’d lost it completely, blowing up in front of everyone in the captain’s office.
His job was on the line, but he wasn’t going to let it go. He had to make sure it looked like he was having a genuine vacation. He didn’t think anyone was watching him—he wasn’t that important—but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
And how better to do that than to engage in a vacation fling with a beautiful woman? As a cover, it had numerous advantages.
He pictured Sarah in his mind’s eye and smiled. He wouldn’t be working every minute, and maybe she would provide the perfect distraction. She wasn’t going to be easily convinced, but then, he’d always enjoyed the hunt.
SARAH WAS still mumbling to herself as she pushed her key into the lock on the door of her room and froze, finding it open. Someone was inside.
She pushed the door open a little more with her fingertip, silently, slowly, holding her breath until she had it open far enough that she could see inside, though part of the room was blocked from view.
She heard humming, and frowned. Someone sounded pretty happy in there. Definitely a female voice. She was relieved she didn’t have anything with her worth stealing. She’d left all of her computer equipment back in Norfolk. Ian’s orders, damn him. But she still didn’t like the idea of anyone going through her stuff.
A young woman moved into her line of vision. She was pulling some faded flowers out of the vase by the window and replacing them with fresh ones. Not exactly burglar behavior. Sarah pushed the door open and stepped inside, sighting a small service cart she hadn’t spotted from the crack in the door.
The maid.
She sighed heavily, feeling the tension drain away, irritation returning. She hadn’t spent much time in hotels or inns, and hadn’t even considered that there would be a maid in her room. She hadn’t even slept in the room yet, what was there to clean up?
Her suspicions suddenly seemed silly, even to her. It wasn’t like the small, quaint town of Cape Charles was a hotbed of crime—they left the door to the main house open all day, even when no one was around. Sarah couldn’t quite get used to that fact. Her suspicions were misplaced, the result of city living and the extreme boredom she was experiencing at the moment.
The young woman turned, smiling, and that smile faded suddenly. Sarah experienced a pinch of guilt as she realized she was standing there scowling at the girl for no good reason. She could feel her cheeks all bunched up. She tried to relax, though she couldn’t quite manage a smile. The maid wrung her hands, apparently feeling caught in the act even though she obviously hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Sarah felt like a jerk.
“I-I’m sorry, we try to be out of the rooms before—”
“It’s okay. You just startled me.” At the girl’s doubtful glance, she reiterated, “Really. Thanks for freshening the flowers.” Sarah didn’t know what else to say—was she supposed to tip her or something?
“You’re welcome. I’ll just get out of your way now.” The young woman rolled the small cart to the door and stopped. “Thanks for not being angry. I really need this job in the summer to save money for college. But we’re supposed to be out of the rooms when guests are around. It’s just that I forgot to change your flowers this morning, and figured I could stop back and—”
“It’s okay. What’s your name?”
The girl blanched, and Sarah realized she probably thought she was going to be reported.
“Ivy.”
Sarah smiled, trying to prove she wasn’t the wicked witch of the east. “Thanks, Ivy. And don’t worry about getting in here while I’m not around. After a few more days of this, I’ll need the company.”
“What do you mean?”
Sarah sighed, sitting on the bed, waving her hand around aimlessly. “I’m not used to…this. There’s nothing to do, no one around.”
“You don’t like the quiet? It’s why most people come here.”
“Not me. My boss is an ass—uh, idiot who thought I needed a break and he made the reservations for me. He thought I was wound a little too tightly and needed to relax.”
Ivy kept quiet, her fingers poised on the doorknob, and Sarah felt the need to clarify.
“I just like my work is all. I don’t get burnt out. He doesn’t seem to get that.”
“What do you do? Are you a model?”
Sarah blinked, surprised. She knew she wasn’t ugly, but she’d never thought of herself as model material.
“Oh, no way. I’m a cop.”
She almost smiled as Ivy’s eyes widened in surprise.
“A cop? Like, a real one? A detective like on CSI?”
“Not like that, but I work in a special unit with the Norfolk police department.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“Yeah, but not here.”
“That is so cool. You are so pretty. I never would’ve guessed you’re a cop.”
Sarah felt inordinately pleased by the compliment, and shrugged. “Thanks. It’s kind of a new job, actually, so I didn’t really need this vacation. I’m going to go slowly insane if I don’t find some way to pass the time. I’m here for two weeks, and I just can’t sit around on the beach all day. And there’s no shopping here. Or anything.”
Frustration edged itself into her tone again, but this time Ivy seemed to understand.
“Well, it is peaceful here. Most people come here to get away from all that, from the noise and stuff. But there is a lot to do.”
“Like what?”
“Do you like crabbing?”
“I don’t like complainy people—”
Ivy laughed. “No, I mean, like getting crabs, to eat. You can do your own crabbing.”
Sarah just raised her eyebrows. The closest she’d ever come to getting her own live seafood was buying it at street markets in New York.
“Anything else?”
“Well, there are some museums and historic stops. Assateague and Chincoteague aren’t far away. You can see the wild horses and deer there on the beaches, which are incredible. Or, oh, you can take a kayak lesson with Jim McIntyre, he gives a discount to resort guests, and he’s like a magician on the water.”
Ivy’s cheeks had stained a light pink as she spoke about the kayak instructor, and Sarah guessed the young woman had a little more interest in him than a business referral.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
Pink turned to full-out red, and Ivy shook her head vehemently.
“No, no.” She sounded very disappointed by this fact. “But I wouldn’t say he’s the best just because of that. He really is very good.”
“And you like him? For more than his ability as a kayak instructor?”
Ivy hesitated, biting her lip, then nodded.
“Have you told him?”
“No. I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a little older.”
“How much older?”
“Twenty-six.”
“And you’re…?”
“Just twenty.”
Sarah took a deep breath. Numerically that wasn’t a huge difference, but she was willing to bet that in terms of experience, it was. By the way she was blushing, Sarah would lay odds that Ivy was as pure as the spotless white sheets she’d just put on the bed.
“Well, it’s probably just as well. Men can be more trouble than they’re worth.”
A small crease appeared on Ivy’s smooth brow in response to her statement. “Really? I bet you have guys asking you out all the time.”
Sarah shook her head. “Not really. I guess they pick up on the vibe that I give out.”
“A cop vibe? They don’t like that?”
“I don’t know if it’s that, but you have to be careful about men, Ivy. What you see is almost never what you get. And what you get is often a whole pack of trouble.”
Ivy seemed to have a hard time digesting that. “I should get going. I have to finish up. It was nice talking to you. Thanks for not being mad, you know, about the room.”
“Anytime. I hope we get to chat again. And don’t worry about this Jim guy. You’re probably too good for him anyway.”
Ivy smiled and closed the door, and Sarah lay back on the bed, feeling a little less irritated after talking with Ivy. The day hadn’t been a total waste after all; at least she’d been able to give some decent advice to the younger woman. Sarah wished someone had made certain things about men clear to her before she’d made some of the biggest mistakes of her life. If she could save girls like Ivy some of that pain, it was worth it.
3
LOGAN DIDN’T so much as move to rub his eyes, even though they stung from the bright blue light of the laptop screen that held his attention. The satellite Internet service that the inn used had been difficult to tap into. It was slow, and if it happened to be rainy or cloudy, he could forget it, but he’d lucked out tonight. The weather was clear, and every star in the southeastern sky was out—not that he was stargazing.
In fact, what he was looking at was far less pleasant. He’d discovered where Mel’s pictures had been posted from and after doing more investigating he’d found two other women from the same porn site who’d been reported as missing. They were from different cities, but they’d all vacationed in the same place, Virginia Beach.
It was the link he had been looking for. If his somewhat lacking computer skills and the computer connection he’d wired up would hold, maybe he could find those final pieces of the puzzle even sooner than he’d hoped.
He’d wanted to go to the same hotel Mel had stayed at, but that would have looked too suspicious. So he’d made some phone calls and had asked her family and friends to see if they knew more about her vacation plans, had received postcards, or anything of the sort.
He’d finally hit pay dirt—Mel’s best friend, a chatty woman named Terri, had told him that Mel had met some guy and had been excited about going on an offshore gambling boat. Apparently, the man she’d hooked up with was a high roller looking for eye candy, and Mel had been vulnerable after her breakup. Maybe the man was the one who could explain what had happened to Mel. Logan had tried to get a description, but Terri hadn’t had too many details.
Logan had an itch that this was the lead he needed. He’d heard of offshore gaming, operations where tourists were taken far enough out to sea that federal and state laws about gambling—and God knows what else—didn’t apply.
It was a popular business, and lots of tourists took advantage, not always aware of what they were getting into. Unregulated, many of the boats that promoted offshore gaming were suspected of being involved in the drug trade, as well as money laundering. So it was more than possible that one of them could be running a pornography operation on the side. And the Internet was the perfect vehicle to distribute their product, since the boats frequently offered online gambling.
Logan needed passenger lists and schedules, and he had to find out which boat Mel had been on. Clenching his jaw over the slow response of his connection, he waited, determined to be patient as he downloaded everything he could find about local tours available, their routes and schedules.
He didn’t have any proof yet, but his gut told him that he was on the right track.
SARAH FOUND herself wandering around aimlessly later that evening. She’d fallen asleep after Ivy had left, and though she’d had only a restless nap, she’d gotten up past dinnertime and was now completely awake with nothing to do. It was nearing nine o’clock and almost dark. She was hungry, and thought she would go and find some food. After a brief venture outside, she’d quickly slipped back in the door after being swarmed by mosquitoes.
Great. Just wonderful.
She poked around the downstairs of the inn, chatting with some of the guests, but most of them were couples who retired to their rooms shortly after she appeared.
Plopping down into a deep leather sofa in the main room, her spirits really plummeted when she realized that the TV offered only local channels, and local channels had next to nothing on. She really was in hell. If she hadn’t been stressed out before her vacation started, she would be by the time she got home.
She disliked being at loose ends, at night most of all. The daylight drove away most of her demons, but in the lonely hours of the evening, she usually had to work to keep her thoughts from eating her alive. Her mother used to caution that idle hands did the devil’s work. For the most part she’d left her devils firmly in the past; but at night, if it was too quiet, when the loneliness took over they still haunted her.
Crossing the room to the registration desk, she heard some murmuring coming from a small room to the back. Curious and looking for anything to do, anyone to talk to, she went in the direction of the voice.
An older man sat at a computer, swearing profusely under his breath. She recognized him; he was Harold Sanders, Karen’s husband. Harold was a polite and polished guy, and here he was swearing like a sailor. Computers brought out that familiar stream of colorful language in the best of people. He appeared to be at the end of his rope.
Sarah knocked softly, and he managed a small, polite smile when he saw her in the doorway.
“Yes, um, Ms. Jessup. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you—is there something you need?”
Sarah wasn’t sure what to say. Directing her eyes to the computer he sat in front of, hoping she didn’t look like an addict in desperate need of a fix, she tried to sound casual.
“Having computer problems?”
Harold emitted a gusty sigh. “I’m sorry. I must have been turning the air blue, eh?” He settled back in his seat, gesturing in disgust toward the desktop computer.
“This satellite connection we have usually works pretty well. Sometimes it’s slow, but no worse than your average modem, and it’s usually enough for our needs. Tonight something is bogging it down, and I don’t understand it—I’m not handling any huge files, and the weather is clear.”
Sarah nodded. “Want me to take a look?”
Harold looked at her doubtfully. “You know anything about these things?”
“A bit. It’s my work. I don’t know what I can do, but I could probably tell you if it’s a problem with your machine or your network—you might have a virus.”
He looked hesitant. “Oh, I hope not. I keep the virus detection software updated. But I don’t think I should have you working on your vacation—Karen would have a fit.”
Sarah smiled sweetly, trying not to appear too eager. Maybe if she could look at his machine, she might be able to sneak in a look at her e-mail, her discussion groups…just one little peek.
“No problem at all. Truth is, I was kind of restless and at loose ends, wandering around when I found you. You’d be doing me a favor if you let me have a look at it.”
His brow creased in concern. “You’re not enjoying your stay?”
She hedged, realizing she was on delicate ground. “It’s my first day—you know how it takes some time to adjust to a new place, a new schedule. It’s beautiful here, but I’m just not in vacation mode yet.”
“I understand. It can be hard to wind down if you’re used to a busy schedule.”
She looked expectantly at the computer, then stepped forward when he was still hesitant. “It should only take me a few minutes. Why don’t you get something to drink? I…I could use something as well. It’s so hot tonight.”
Harold, looking relieved that he had a way to both escape his problem and serve his guest, stood up quickly, surrendering his chair.
Sarah sat down, running her fingers over the keyboard like a caress, a calm focus overcoming her as she tapped keys and studied the lines of text flying over the black background of the DOS box she’d called up.
Harold set an icy glass of tea by the side of the monitor, and she addressed him without looking up.
“Do you share this connection with any other computer in the inn or another business?”
“No, this is the only machine, and we just have one account on the connection. As you know, laptops and other such things are discouraged here. They interrupt the vacation environment.”
Sarah choked down a scoff. “Yes, well, as far as I can tell, you have someone sucking bandwidth off your connection.”
“I’m sorry…?”
“Someone is tapping into your connection. It seems like it would have to be someone physically here, in the building, but it could be a neighbor or someone nearby. Wireless and satellite connections are easy for others to tap into, much like splicing a television cable connection, if you know how to do it.”
Harold seemed at a loss. “But who would do such a thing? We know all of our neighbors. They wouldn’t—are you sure that’s what it is?”
His tone turned skeptical, perhaps unconvinced that a woman could make this technical assessment, she thought sourly. She’d run into that problem before, when she’d tried white collar work, where it was more important to her IT colleagues that she was datable than if she was competent. At least her little hacker circles had been a level playing field.
“I’m sure. It would be hard for me to explain to you why, but it’s there, believe me. I do this kind of thing every day. With some more work, I can probably trace the machine, maybe get the user’s name, but probably not the location.”
“And you know how to do this?”
“Like I said, it’s part of my job.”
“Yes, well, this is all very disturbing. You can’t find who it is? Have they, uh, hacked into our machine?”
Sarah shook her head. “They’re using your connection, but your machine seems fine. The only way I could find out who they are—maybe—is if I got into their machine and could track down some identifying information.”
She caught Harold’s startled glance and sat back, grabbing her tea. “But that wouldn’t really be legal, or necessary. However, I can cause them a little inconvenience.” Sarah smiled slyly, catching Harold’s eye. “I can shut them out. They may find a way back in, but for now they’d be locked out, and you would have your connection back and running faster. You can report the breach to your satellite provider tomorrow, and see what they can do to prevent it from happening again.”
Relief brightened her host’s features. “That sounds wonderful. Would you like a snack with your tea? Karen made pie earlier.”
“Harold, you are a man after my own heart.”
She smiled with sheer joy. Hacking and snacking—exactly what she’d needed to feel like herself again, and to have some fun.
Shutting off the interloper wasn’t exactly easy, but she knew she could get in there and do it, given a few minutes. Grinning, she imagined the hacker’s frustration when his or her connection was cut. Probably a neighborhood teen who’d figured out how to jump on the wireless connection for a free ride. No doubt as bored and restless as she was.
When she was done, she’d also warn Harold about handing over his computer to a strange user so easily, and run him through the basics of security, both human and technical. If she were a corrupt person, she could get control of their network, or get enough informationto do the small resort some serious damage. Hackers took exactly these kinds of opportunities to do their thing, sometimes right underneath people’s noses.
Forgetting that, she became so caught up in her work, she barely noticed anything, mumbling to herself and lost in the world of codes and programs, completely forgetting about Harold until she heard him snoring lightly, and looked over to see the older man had fallen asleep in a chair. His thin, gold, wire-frame glasses slid down his nose a little bit, and she felt affection for him, even though she didn’t know him very well.
Sleeping like that, he reminded her of her grandfather, and the memory brought both a smile and an ache. Pops was gone now, and she missed him horribly. He’d been the only one in her family who hadn’t judged her harshly for her mistakes.
Sighing, she decided against checking her e-mail or lists—for all she knew, Ian or E.J. had put a sniffer out there to tag her if she showed up, and Ian would dock her vacation pay if he caught her, as he’d threatened before she left. She finished off the fantastic banana cream pie Harold had brought her and shut the screen down.
Closing up shop, she reassured herself that the problem was solved for the moment. Pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, she covered Harold up and left him a quick note, whispering the words out loud as she wrote them. Harry, Connection fixed. Thanks for the snack. S.J.
Wandering back up the stairs, she grabbed a bunch of magazines from a stack on a table and grimaced as she glanced at the titles: Country Living, Martha Stewart Living and Sport Fisherman.
No Cosmo, People or, better yet, techie mags like 2600 or Secure Enterprise. Even Wired would do in a pinch. Ah, well, beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was going to be a long night. She could have gone several more hours online before winding down, and now she had a buzz from her light hacking episode. She grinned, the familiar happiness gripping her whenever she thought about the fact that she was paid to do this kind of work now.
As she reached the top landing, another door softly shut. Not really paying attention, she kept walking and nearly collided head-on with Logan—a noticeably more tense Logan than she had met that afternoon. He looked like something had really pissed him off.
She felt another, stronger tug. She liked him looking this way, and she could feel the energy that practically arced through the air like an electrical current. She took in the tight black T-shirt that hugged his firm upper body, and the worn jeans, feeling that surge of interest again.
“You okay?”
His eyes snapped toward her and he stepped back, running a hand through already disheveled ebony hair, getting control of himself.
“Yeah, just restless, and hot—did the AC break? I’m heading out for a beer.”
She stared at him—the inn was kept at a comfortable seventy degrees, but he did look overly warm.
“Want company?”
They were both surprised at her question, but she didn’t take it back—she didn’t have anything better to do.
“Sure.”
Shrugging, she did an about-face and headed back down the stairs in front of him. At the bottom, she put the magazines back.
“You know anywhere to go?”
“I spotted a small place in town this morning, on my way in. I hope it’s still open. It’s within walking distance.”
“Everything is,” she replied with light sarcasm. “The mosquitoes will carry us back and forth. It’s bad out there, take it from me. I can drive.” She hesitated at the door, wanting to get out, but not relishing all the itchy bites that awaited her. Logan pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Hold on.”
As she watched him disappear past the kitchen, she wondered what he was up to. He returned a few minutes later holding a small, green aerosol can.
“Heavy-duty stuff. It smells, and you should shower it off so it’s not on your skin all night, but it’ll do the job for now.”
Sarah grinned and held out her arms. “Do me.”
No sooner were the words spoken than she felt the clog in her throat, and he slanted her a roguish smile, the tension in his face easing as he pointed the can at her.
“Your wish is my pleasure.”
Sarah closed her eyes as he covered her lightly with spray and wrinkled her nose as the strong scent surrounded them and she felt the cool aerosol on her skin. He did both legs and then moved up her torso and by the time he got to her arms, she was tingling all over. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but…
“Hold out your hands.”
She opened her eyes. “Why?”
“You can rub it on your neck and over your hair without getting it on your face.”
She frowned, placing her hands palms up. “This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m going on safari, not for a beer.”
“Small price to pay. You should wash your hands before we go, too.”
She put her hand out for the can. “Your turn.”
“I can get myself.”
She shrugged. “It’s your skin, slick.”
She walked back and washed her hands quickly before rejoining him. The entire lobby smelled like bug spray, but they were done and out the door, walking into the heavy, humid night air. Mosquitoes buzzed around them, disappointed and not biting. Sarah smiled.
“I’m glad you found that spray. I was going nuts in there.”
“Having a hard time settling into vacation?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Me, too. It’s been a while.”
“I guess you have to ease into it. Vacation can be hard work.”
They continued the pleasant small talk as they walked the narrow town streets toward the main strip, where they found the bar was still open. There were a few people around, touring the street that looked out over the marinas and the harbor, and the Coast Guard station buzzed with activity just across the way.
The bar was small, quiet and bathed in golden light. Sarah was surprised to see a small band setting up in the corner. Live music—who would’ve thought? Small wooden tables were scattered everywhere, and Logan led her to one near a dusky corner, away from the band.
They gave the waitress their orders and faced each other quietly in the dim light. Strangers sitting together like old friends, waiting for a beer. It was intimate, uncomfortably so. Sarah shifted in her chair, looking at the handsome man who sat so close to her that their knees almost touched under the small table. She moved hers to the left, trying to discreetly avoid the contact, and smiled at the young waitress when she delivered two frosty beers to the table.
“So…”
“So…”
They spoke simultaneously, laughed together, and broke the strain somewhat. Logan lifted his beer to her, and she did the same before drinking.
“It’s a shame.”
“What’s that?” Tilting her beer back, she took a sip, letting the amber liquid slide down her throat. It was perfect.
“The two of us, apparently such workaholics that we can’t get into the vacation groove.” He smiled across the table, tipping his bottle toward her. “But I have to admit, things are looking up.”
Sarah smiled and took another swig, trying to decide how to respond. She didn’t want to invite anything inadvertently—or did she? No. She didn’t know him, didn’t know what kind of man he was. You could never trust the impressions people offered you.
Swallowing slowly, she met his gaze, and found nothing more than friendly interest there. She loosened up.
“I’ve never had an actual vacation, not since I was a kid. I guess I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Who do you work for? They don’t offer any vacation time?”
“Oh, no. They offer it, but I don’t take it.” She began to explain further and then changed her mind. For some reason, she didn’t want to talk with him about her job. “Let’s not talk about work. Maybe we can help each other get into this vacation groove.”
His eyes warmed and she watched as the rim of the bottle was held poised before his straight, firm and slightly wet lips. Uh-oh.
“Fair enough. Let’s start over. No work, just play. Sound good?”
She nodded, oddly relieved.
“I wonder what kind of music they’re going to have.” He glanced toward the band, and then looked back to her.
“I just hope it’s not country. That really would be the last straw.”
As if by magic, two more beers appeared on the table, and Sarah realized she was feeling a little woozy. She had missed dinner, and the beer, which normally didn’t have more effect on her than a carbonated drink, was fuzzing her brain.
“I could use something to eat. Do they have a menu?”
A short time later, more beers were delivered, along with a stack of wings and loaded potato skins. Sarah gazed at the food adoringly and loaded up her plate.
“Ah, heaven.”
Logan watched her eat with a combination of admiration and humor, helping himself as well. Sarah seemed to have forgotten him altogether as she concentrated on the food, a slight flush coloring the fine skin of her cheekbones, a little bit of sauce from a wing clinging to her jaw. He reached over, swiping it away with his finger.
“I like a woman with healthy appetites.”
Heat sparked between them, and Logan didn’t know if it was the lateness of the hour, or the beer, or both. He didn’t care. Sarah was gorgeous, even stuffing her face with wings. He smiled when she sat back, sated.
“So, we can’t talk about work, but we can talk about other stuff. Get to know each other a little better.”
“Like what?” She frowned, wondering what he wanted to know, though in all honesty she was curious about him, too.
“Well…” He grinned in the direction of the band, definitely of the country-rock variety. “You apparently don’t like country music. What kind do you like?”
This was a safe enough topic. “I visit a lot of jazz clubs and alternative music spots in the city. Some punk, techno—that kind of thing. It’s where a lot of my friends hang out.” She decided to keep things in the present tense—she’d told him before she was from Brooklyn, and there wasn’t any reason to complicate things now. And she couldn’t explain her move without explaining her job. Depending on what was happening here, maybe it was best he believed she lived back up north.
“They’re musicians?”
“Some.”
“Techno, huh? Do you ever rave?” he asked with a smile and she smiled back.
“I’ve been once or twice. It’s a little too crazy for me, and I prefer to keep my mind and body clean. Drugs aren’t a requirement, of course, but they’re pretty prevalent in the clubs. Not my scene, really.”
“Me, either. But it sounds like an exciting life.”
“Not especially.” She smiled, thinking of the movie portrayals of hackers, all dressed in black with slick haircuts and shiny earrings, attending raves every night and talking the talk.
Some of that was true—there was a distinct “look” among her old set of friends—but the lifestyle wasn’t really all that glamorous or exciting. Sitting in front of a computer for hours—or days—on end wasn’t the stuff excitement was made of. Not unless you were into it.
“It’s just a life.” She took a swig of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle. “So what about you?”
He shrugged. “I like most music, nothing in particular though. I go to outdoor concerts back home, but I have never really been to clubs or anything like that.” Except on raids, he thought quietly with a smile.
“Do you dance?”
“Sure, is that a hint?” His eyes sparkled and she almost retracted her question, but decided to let it stand. Why not?
“Well, this music is better than I thought—not the old ‘my-truck-broke-down-and-my-girlfriend-left-me-for-my-best-friend’ kind of thing. It has a beat.”
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