Colby Agency: Guardian Of The Night Part 8

"Fine," he echoed.

Three beats pa.s.sed without reaction.

Then, just as he'd done before and in spite of his better intentions, he plowed his fingers into her hair, cupped her face and pulled her mouth up to his.

She tasted sweet and hot. Her lips were soft and pliable beneath his. Her fingers fisted in his shirt seemed to draw him closer, or maybe he just wanted to believe she did so. But then her lips parted...he thrust inside. His whole body jerked with need. It had been so d.a.m.n long. The smell of her...the taste of her...he wanted more.

Kissing her would never be enough.

Her arms wound around his neck and she went on tiptoe, tilting her head back, drawing him more deeply inside that delicious mouth. He groaned, desire coursing through his veins and banishing all thought. He slid one hand down her back, molded his palm around her shapely bottom, pulled her more firmly against him.

Her palms flattened against his chest. He squeezed her bottom, feeling the savage roar of possession. She pushed against his chest. His mind denied the move. But then she pushed harder, forcing him away. She pulled out of his hold. His whole body reacted to the loss. He reached for her again, but she evaded his touch.

"I think that about covers it," she said as if completely unaffected by the kiss. "And remember, we had a deal. We both have to want it for that to happen again."

He blinked, tried to think...to pull himself back together.

"Thanks for the drink."

She walked out of his room without looking back once.

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth to try and stop the tingling there, it was no use. What the h.e.l.l had just happened? He'd kissed her...lost all control...and she'd walked away as if the intimacy they had shared had been nothing at all.

A slow smile slid into place. He had a feeling that her little anticlimactic exit was all about control, putting him in his place so she could do her "job." Play the part of professional all the way. Well, two could play the control game.

Next time they kissed, she would be the one begging.

And he would show no mercy.

Chapter Seven.

Blue jerked awake. Her arms and legs ached from sitting curled up so long in the overstuffed wing chair. She blinked rapidly to focus in the dim light of her room. She was alone. She shivered, recalling the dream that had left her feeling anything but alone. In the dream someone had been in the room with her...watching her...then touching her. She knew without question that her dream visitor had been Noah Drake. She had to stop thinking about him that way...even in her dreams. l.u.s.ting after the princ.i.p.al on an a.s.signment was strictly forbidden.

She peered at her watch and realized she'd slept for a whole hour. She swore softly as she pushed to her feet and hurried from the room. That meant Drake could be anywhere, doing anything. She'd only meant to sit down and take her shoes off, but between the exhaustion left by the fading adrenaline and the warmth generated by the brandy, she'd dozed off.

What she needed was a long hot shower. Something to wash away the aches left by her scuffle with the fool carrying the hunting rifle and to distract her from the vivid memories of Noah Drake's kiss. She shivered again and called herself two kinds of fool. Not once in her career had she let this happen. Why now? With him?

Downstairs, she paused in the entry hall and peeked into the kitchen. Lowell and Drake were there... arguing.

"I don't like it." Lowell's voice. "This is just another reason she should call her superiors or, perhaps, Mr. Rothman. We can't be certain the timing is mere coincidence. What if they are connected to the notes? What if-?"

"I said no." Drake's voice held a distinct edge now. "End of subject. You said the sheriff's deputy knew those two guys and that they'd been in trouble for this kind of thing before. It's not connected to the general or to me. I've been more than patient with your harping, Lowell. I've even gone so far as to allow Miss Callahan to stay, but I won't be pushed any farther. Do we understand each other?"

"Of course," Lowell acquiesced.

An awkward silence followed.

Recognizing her cue, Blue stepped away from the door and moved quietly back up the stairs. Getting caught eavesdropping was about the last thing she wanted. For once she and Drake saw eye-to-eye. There was no reason to call Lucas. He would be on the island somewhere and was likely aware of the whole incident already. But he would not step in unless she needed him, and she didn't.

As a civilian, Lowell, of course, had no way of knowing that or understanding the way things worked. His only concern was for Drake's welfare and maybe hers. And probably his own. But the two men she and Drake had encountered in the woods had nothing to do with the general, of that she was certain. She'd read the general's dossier. He wouldn't play games like that. He would go for the jugular and be done with it. The whole notes thing just didn't fit his profile. But there was, according to the file, no one else who had reason to harm Drake. She supposed some local could be responsible, but she had to proceed under the a.s.sumption that it was the general. She thought of the latest note and wondered if he or some of his cohorts were actually here already. It would appear so since he was aware of her presence. But then, why bother with the notes?

...he said you'd be a fighter.

The jerk with the hunting rifle, Sykes, had said those words to her. Why hadn't she remembered that before now? Heat rushed through her veins and that was reminder enough. She'd been too distracted by the man she was supposed to protect. Had the guy's friend Jaymo a.s.sumed her to be a fighter based on his observations when they fired those shots at her yesterday? Or had someone else made the statement? That was a question she needed to have answered. Lowell had commented that Drake had said those exact words, but he had been as caught off guard by those two as she had. He couldn't be responsible.

Blue closed the bedroom door behind her and undressed as she crossed the room. The blouse was trashed. She tossed it aside and peeled off her tank top. Good thing she carried another chain because the one she'd been wearing was history as well. She toed off her shoes and rolled the socks away from her feet. The urge to walk barefoot in the sand nudged her again. She'd always loved beaches. That Noah Drake had his own private one was special in her book.

She shimmied out of her jeans and panties and kicked them aside. A bra was something she never bothered with except when she ran or worked out. She found the garment far too confining. And since she usually wore a tank top or T-shirt under her blouse it wasn't a problem.

Completely nude now, she headed into the bathroom. That hot shower sounded better all the time. She was sore and achy. The hot water would relax her muscles and wash away some of the discomfort. She turned on the faucet and brushed her teeth while the water heated. Staring at her reflection she thought of the way Drake had kissed her. His touch had been strong, sure, but with an underlying desperation. His taste had been hot and male, filled with urgency.

It wasn't until he'd pressed her hips to his that she'd snapped from the haze of l.u.s.t. She'd felt the fullness, the incredible hardness of his arousal and reality had broadsided her. Getting involved with him would be a major mistake, personally as well as professionally.

Their lives being worlds apart was the least of their differences. She had a gut feeling that his pursuit of the kiss was about far more than a mere kiss. He wanted...needed to prove something to himself. If he'd stayed completely away from all human contact except for Lowell, as she suspected, he was more than likely suffering from a serious craving to have s.e.x. To prove he was still desirable.

No question there, she mused as she stepped beneath the hot spray of water. He was extremely desirable. She closed her eyes and allowed the water to rain over her, but her tightly clenched lids did nothing to keep away the images her mind conjured of the man.

Tall, dark and handsome was a cliche, but it described him perfectly. There was an allure of danger about him that was for the largest part born of the darkness that was his world. Even the locals had gotten that impression, considered him a vampire or other dark creature of which they had no understanding. Other than Lowell, whose presence he disregarded as much as possible if she had her guess, he interacted with no one.

But he showed no visible signs of being lonely, only bitter and resentful of outside interference.

A smoke screen, she decided.

His indifference and disregard for the human race was for show. Her eyes opened and she leaned her face away from the water, considering the concept more fully. He didn't miss what he refused to acknowledge.

So was the kiss an attempt to scare her off or a crack in his thus-far seemingly impervious control?

Blue reached for the soap and made a decision. She would know one way or the other whatever the cost to her. If he hoped to frighten her away, he could forget it. She'd had a lifetime of male domination tactics thrown at her, that was something she knew how to handle. But the other, well that might prove a little more dicey. Though she would very much like to see Noah Drake lose control and actually reach out to another human being, she wasn't sure she wanted to be the one he touched. Not if that touch was equally as intense as what she'd experienced tonight.

She wasn't sure any woman could survive him on that level with her heart intact.

Forcing the subject away, she lathered her body with the fresh bar of soap. She closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply. It smelled like spring, clean and fragrant. She slid the bar over her chest, down her abdomen, then reached between her shoulders.

The hot water pelted down on her skin, rinsing the sudsy lather away. Fire stung across her torso.

She hissed a curse and blinked to clear the water from her lashes. She stared down at her chest and abdomen. One thin red line after the other appeared on her skin, only to be erased by the blast of the water. It wasn't until she stepped back from the spray of water and the red drizzled and seeped from the numerous lines that she realized what it was.

Blood.

NOAH SPREAD the copies he'd kept of the hara.s.sing and threatening notes he had received during the past two months over his desk in the parlor. He studied each in turn. If the general was behind them, someone in Atlanta was mailing the notes for him. He wouldn't bother with such a trivial thing himself. In fact, in Noah's estimation, he wouldn't bother with the notes at all.

General Regan Bonner was a highly trained military strategist. Sending out warnings was definitely not his way. He would strike when he was ready, when his enemy was at his most vulnerable. He would not play games or drag out the inevitable.

Then who was behind the notes?

Noah stared at the cut-and-pasted words on the pages again. To his knowledge he had no other enemies. None who would bother with vengeance anyway. The locals were suspicious of him, that was true enough, but none of them had any real beef with him. None of them was aware of his past. Not even Lowell knew everything. He knew what Noah had told him, nothing more.

Only Edgar Rothman and perhaps his friend Thomas Casey or Lucas Camp knew everything.

Noah considered briefly that the whole scam could be a ploy to get at Edgar. Now there was a man who'd made more than his share of enemies. He'd gone head-to-head with numerous bureaucrats and agency heads over the years. But who would be privy to a failed experiment of this caliber? Who would have access to files so highly cla.s.sified that even the president wasn't aware of all they entailed?

Noah's group basically did not exist and were so secretive that there was no organizational name. They were simply referred to as "the Others." General Bonner had discovered one of Rothman's experimental prototypes and had hoped to steal it for his own use. He had succeeded, the breach requiring desperate measures to rectify. The prototype, a chameleon-cloaking device, carried far too much potential for wartime use. As an espionage weapon it was priceless, its technology unparalleled.

Rothman had to get it back. But first he had to prove the general had taken it. Bonner, after all, had a prestigious reputation among his peers. Rothman's accusation was merely scoffed at.

There had been no other alternative. Someone had to get in, get the goods on the general and get the prototype back. A feat that, with the general's background in security and wartime strategies, would have been impossible unless the invader was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.

A second device was quickly made operational and then, for the first time, used on a human. A genetically enhanced, organic implant had been placed in just the right spot to override the brain's histological control over flesh and hair coloring. With a neurological base, the human guinea pig was able to invoke the process at will. The idea was that one could blend in with his environment. Of course, there were a couple of drawbacks. First, the subject had to be naked for it to work in any setting other than darkness. And, admittedly, the device did not work as well in most other environments. Second, since use in humans had not been tested prior to that, the side effects had been unknown.

Until five years ago.

Noah had been that guinea pig. He'd allowed the implant. He'd gotten the goods on Bonner and retrieved the prototype. And he was still paying the price.

There was only one side effect to the implant, which melded so fully with his own tissue that later removal was impossible-his body would no longer tolerate bright light. His flesh wouldn't spontaneously combust like the vampires in the old movies. He would simply suffer immeasurable pain. Every nerve ending would be charged with it to the point of overload. Prolonged exposure would result in a neurological blowout. Possibly a stroke, but ultimately leading to cardiac arrest.

Since there was no way to remove the implant without doing irreversible brain damage and there was no way to know how long it would remain operational, Noah had no choice but to live in darkness...in all likelihood for the rest of his life.

More than a year ago Rothman had approached him about a possible antidote of sorts-a neuron injection that would pinpoint the implant and shut down its function. The injection would work much like a heavy, intense chemotherapy treatment for a cancer patient. The only drawback was that Rothman couldn't completely rule out the possibility of shutting down other, vital areas of the brain. In other words, Noah could become a vegetable or simply paralyzed or any number of other things.

He'd refused the injection. At least he had control over all his faculties as well as his bodily functions. There was simply no compelling reason to take the risk involved with Rothman's antidote.

Noah had already made one costly mistake, he had no intention of making another.

Which brought him to yet another problem. Maggie Callahan. Blue. He closed his eyes and let go a heavy sigh. He should never have indulged his s.e.xual fantasies. Drawing her into his life on a personal level was wrong, a serious error in judgment. He didn't even like it that she was involved on a professional level. But something about her made him lose all self-control. Made him want things he shouldn't.

He told himself that he could have this relationship with her and be safe. She would leave soon or the general would catch him off guard or both. Either way she would be free to carry on with her life and he would, if only for a short time, have felt something again. In addition, if he kept her close at hand he could see that she was protected.

Her job was top priority for her, but he knew General Bonner too well. He would never allow a single bodyguard, male or female, to stand in his way when he came after Noah. Blue's only chance of survival was if he kept her distracted and out of the line of fire.

What Rothman didn't understand about Noah was that he was prepared to face the general. He wanted that over, one way or another. He didn't fear the man or his minions. Noah had one very important element on his side-this was his territory. He knew the island like the back of his hand. The general would not beat him here. Here, Noah's only enemy was the light, but he had taken steps to ensure his safety during the daylight hours. He had an escape tunnel. The general would never find him while the sun was up. Never. Then the battle would be fought on Noah's terms. In the dark...on his island.

"Your enemy has struck again."

Noah looked up at the sound of Blue's voice. She plopped a plastic sandwich bag containing what looked like a bar of soap onto the desk in front of him. She'd showered and changed. Her attire consisted of her typical fashion statement of jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down blouse over a sleeveless T-shirt. His gaze automatically skimmed the slender curves of her frame, then her face. Tension vibrated from her. Her jaw was tight...her lips in a firm line. Something was wrong.

More curious than concerned, he picked up the bag and studied the barely used white bar. "It looks like bath soap," he said distractedly still trying to determine why she'd bothered to bag it like evidence and present it to him as if it held some mystery she was yet to solve.

"It is. It was in my shower. I used it." The last trembled from her lips.

His gaze shot upward to hers, the rhythm of his heart picked up its pace. "What's wrong with it?"

She blinked rapidly to cover what looked like fear or maybe pain. She held out her right hand, palm up. "The soap contained a little more than cleansing and moisturizing agents."

Her palm was scored with tiny lines that looked like paper cuts. His gaze moved from her hand to the bagged soap then back to her. A blast of outrage pushed him to his feet, sending his chair banging against the credenza.

He was around the desk and towering over her in one second flat. "There's more?" His voice was ragged with fury. He knew the answer without asking. How much of her body had she innocently rubbed the soap over before she realized...?

She nodded, her eyes wide with trepidation.

His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle flexed in protest there, he reached for the b.u.t.tons of her blouse. She held perfectly still as he released one, then another and another until it parted, falling to her sides. But her choppy breathing gave away her internal response. His own body reacted in kind. His anger overriding all else, he focused on the task at hand. Above the scooped neck of her sleeveless T-shirt were more of the marring lines. He touched her skin, traced one thin line until it disappeared beneath the cotton of her top. She shivered, her flesh pebbling in goose b.u.mps.

His throat went completely dry when he tugged down the neckline to find more of the scratches on the soft mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and in the delicate valley between them. His gaze lowered to where the hem of her T-shirt was tucked into her jeans. She gasped when he tugged it free. Lifting the soft fabric out of the way he surveyed her taut abdomen. More lines. She flinched when he touched the one that intersected her bellyb.u.t.ton.

Anger boiled up inside him so hot and so quickly that he could scarcely contain it. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bag from his desk and removed the bar of soap.

"Careful," she warned, her voice still sounding breathless and shaky. "Slivers of what I think is gla.s.s are imbedded just beneath the surface."

Before the words were completely out of her mouth a cutting edge p.r.i.c.ked him. He swore, then sucked the blood from his thumb. "I don't see how this could be." The other words he wanted to utter were too savagely vulgar to say in her presence. He carefully placed the bar back into the bag.

"We have antiseptic cream." His gaze moved back to hers. Dammit to h.e.l.l, he hated that she'd been hurt yet again. Why not him? And how the h.e.l.l had someone gotten into this house to do such a thing? It simply wasn't possible.

"I'm okay," she insisted as she straightened her blouse.

He shook his head. "We can't risk an infection." He strode to the door and shouted Lowell's name, then realized the time. Two in the morning. The man would be in bed. He rarely stayed up after Noah rose. Time had taught him that his company was not appreciated.

"We should check the rest of the supplies. If someone tampered with the soap, there could be more." He made a mental list of the items they needed to check. What he really needed was Lowell. He ordered all the supplies, knew the exact dates each order was filled and delivered. It would be difficult to get to the bottom of this without him. He wouldn't appreciate the intrusion, but Noah saw no way around waking him.

"It can wait."

Blue stood right next to him in the doorway, obviously reading his intent. "We need to know how this happened," he argued.

She sighed tiredly. "It can wait until morning. I'll personally go through all the deliveries made to the house in the past few weeks. Lowell will help me."

When the sun rose, Noah retreated to his rooms. It was safer there. The door was equipped with special locks. He didn't want to wait until morning. He wanted answers now. But she was right. Lowell's partic.i.p.ation would be required. There was no point in disrupting his sleep. The damage was done.

"All right, that part can wait, but I insist on the antiseptic cream. That won't wait."

She hesitated, but then nodded. "Where is it?"

"Under the kitchen sink, where else?" he teased. Didn't everyone keep the first-aid kit there?

"Where else," she agreed, finally smiling herself.

Noah followed her into the kitchen and collected the first-aid kit from beneath the sink. He opened it on the table and prowled through the contents until he found what he was looking for.

She reached for the tube. "Thanks."

He held it out of her reach and moved his head from side to side. "I'm afraid I'll need to personally inspect and attend to the damage."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Look, Drake, I'm in no mood for games," she cautioned, her tone firmer now. "So don't give me any grief here."

"Take off your blouse," he ordered, ignoring her edict.