Hiding Jessica (3 page)

“I’ll show you around now,” he said evenly.

She put her sunglasses back on before she nodded, wanting the dark cover more than she cared to admit. He stood too close, she thought angrily. The other men were careful to give her plenty of room, at least a respectful distance. But not this man. He stood so close, she could smell the spicy scent of after-shave. And she could see the faint stubble on his cheeks of a late-afternoon beard. Worse, she could feel the heat radiating from his large frame, feel the tightly restrained power.

She drew herself up carefully, keeping her own control tightly in place. His dark eyes moved over her speculatively, but she gave nothing away. After a moment, he reached over and took the bags from her. She relinquished them wordlessly, careful to keep her hands from contacting his. He turned and walked to a two-story log cabin; she followed.

Walking through the door, she was struck at once by the blaze of heat. For the first time she shivered, only now realizing how cold it had been outside. The man in front of her, of course, noticed the shudder.

“I hope you brought warmer clothes than what you’re wearing,” he remarked in that low voice of his. “Because this isn’t exactly a resort here. In the next two weeks, you’ll be outside a great deal, I promise you.”

She removed her sunglasses once more, looking at him with her dispassionate blue eyes. “I’m sure I’ll survive just fine,” she informed him coolly.

He arched a black eyebrow. “Wearing silk in snow?”

“Mr. Guiness, I’ve worn bathing suits in snow, not that it’s any of your concern. My room, please?”

He ignored her reminder. “Tough life being a fashion model, huh?” he asked, openly amused.

Rather than becoming defensive as he may have hoped, she simply shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “A job is a job,” she said expressionlessly. “I’m sure there are parts of yours that aren’t exactly ‘heavenly,’ either.”

In his mind, he could practically fill in the blanks. Like baby-sitting a fashion model. He ignored the thought completely. Oh, but she was a cool one. Even in person she could keep that tight air of hot-cold sensuality. Her body practically begged for a man’s touch. Her face said she would freeze the first man who tried. He himself wasn’t sure which one to believe, but for now he was going with the message in her eyes.

Still, he wished more things about the woman would check out. It was the fundamental question he’d faced watching her at the trial. What kind of woman turned in her lover without any kind of emotion? What kind of woman could creep around a mobster’s house at night without the slightest fear?

What did go on behind those cool blue eyes of hers?

All he knew was that she looked as beautiful in person as she did in the magazines, and she was perfectly aware of that fact. He also knew she didn’t like him.

For now, that both amused and irritated him.

She was still looking at him with dispassionate eyes. With a mental start, he turned to their surroundings.

He gestured around the room. “As you can see, we walked right into the living room. The fireplace there gives off plenty of heat so the nights aren’t quite so cold. Over to the right is the kitchen and dining room. The kitchen isn’t that big but everything works and there are only four of us. It’s also fully stocked, so food shouldn’t be a problem. We can all take turns cooking. Tonight I’ll draw up the schedule. Can you cook, Jessica?”

It was the first time he’d spoken her name, and it seemed to almost whisper in the air. Unexpectedly, she felt a small shiver creep up her back at the low utterance. With quick control she squashed the reaction.

“Passably,” she said out loud, the words still expressionless. Mitch nodded, pointing out the staircase next. But before they started up it, he set down the bags as he shrugged off his thick coat to hang on one of the wooden pegs by the door. While she waited, Jessica’s own eyes took in the area.

The lower level certainly seemed small and quaint. Everything was in earth tones, with a large brown leather couch in front of the huge fireplace. She could see a thick blanket thrown over the back of the easy chair, lending a homey touch. The red-and-brown Indian-print rug thrown over the wooden floors looked thick and sturdy. To her right, the dining room was an open expanse raised two steps from the living room. In the middle sat a huge pine table with benches on either side serving as the seats. Off the dining room, the kitchen was indeed tiny looking. All in all, the surroundings looked very cozy and comfortable. If she’d been vacationing by herself, she probably would have liked the cabin very much. But sharing it with three other people, one of them being the man in front of her... She wasn’t sure she liked it at all.

She wanted more space. Lots more space.

The man in front of her seemed oblivious, picking her bags back up and now approaching the stairs at their immediate right. Wordlessly, she followed.

Even without his coat, he still seemed large. The wide expanse of his shoulders brushed against the sides of the narrow staircase, until he seemed to fill the entire void. The green plaid shirt he wore looked worn and comfortable on his shoulders, while his faded jeans clearly outlined his legs and hips.

She was careful to keep several steps between them as they went up the stairs. But even then, she could feel his presence in the nervous clenching and unclenching of her stomach. It was the strain of the last five months, she figured. She really did need some time to herself.

The stairs peaked at the wide open expanse of a loft. The front of the loft was finished by a wooden railing, which allowed a person to look down into the living room. Behind the loft were three doorways, each apparently leading to a bedroom. Between two of the bedrooms was a small bathroom. Mitch went straight to the last doorway and motioned her inside.

Maintaining as much distance as possible, she pushed by him into the room. It was a large room, simply furnished. In the center was a queen-size bed, framed by a simple wooden headboard and footboard. A matching nightstand was on one side, while a five-drawer dresser graced the wall. A thick, off-white shag rug had been thrown over most of the floor, and the winter sun streamed in through a triangular window set high in the vaulted ceiling. After months in tiny hotel rooms with tightly drawn curtains, it was a refreshing change of pace. Wordlessly, she walked over to the closet, throwing open the doors.

Mitch watched her every move from the doorway, saw her survey the room, saw her cross the floor with her graceful model’s steps. But not a single expression filtered across her face the entire time. Not disgust, joy, contentment, disappointment. Nothing. Her pale skin remained smooth, her blue eyes dispassionate.

The woman must be hell to play poker with.

From the doorway, he shook his head. Why the need for such control? For such restraint she didn’t even allow for reaction to a room? What went on in that head of hers?

She was crossing back to him, her cool eyes indicating the bags he still held in his hands. In silent acquiescence, he walked a few steps forward and placed the bags on the bed.

“And the bathroom?” she asked quietly, the words sounding abrupt after the long silence.

“Unfortunately, there are only two bathrooms—one upstairs, one downstairs,” Mitch replied. “But as the two agents will be staggering their sleep schedules, it shouldn’t be too hard to coordinate.”

If the arrangement displeased her, none of it showed on her face. Instead, she looked at him with speculative eyes. “Why only two agents? Why send the rest away?”

“The more there are, the harder it is to hide,” he said in his low voice. “A party of eight would be conspicuous. It would require a larger house, more vehicles, more supplies. Smaller numbers make for simplicity.”

“How many times have you done this before?”

“Fifteen or sixteen,” he said, counting forward from when he’d become an independent specialist and had started this program.

“And did it always work?”

“So far, yes.”

“So far? What about now, Mr. Guiness? What do you think will happen this time?”

He looked at her, spearing her with his dark brown gaze until she had to consciously force herself not to turn away. “That’ll depend on you. And by all means, call me Mitch. We’re going to get to know each other real well in the coming weeks.”

Once again her stomach clenched and unclenched. Once again she felt the faint shudder in her spine. Oh, but that was exactly what she was afraid of.

“I’m feeling tired,” she announced abruptly. “I would like to rest now.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel the focus like a probe, and it made her breath want to come out in restless gasps. Instead, she simply stood, willing her eyes to appear uncaring as she waited for him to leave.

At long last he turned toward the door. But at the doorway he abruptly stopped. His eyes were on her neck, then her hair, then finally on her face.

“Why did you do it?” he asked softly, the question that had been puzzling him for weeks finally pushing forth. “Why did you turn Capruccio in?”

She was silent for a moment, her face carefully turned from his. Then she glanced up, looking at him with the same cool blue eyes she’d had on the witness stand.

“Les broke the law,” she said out loud. “Wasn’t that enough?”

Slowly Mitch shook his head.

“He was your lover. People don’t just hand over their lovers for illegal activities. If that was the case, you should have turned him in years ago.”

“Maybe I didn’t know about it then.”

He raised a cynical eyebrow. “Sweetheart, everyone knew what kind of man Les Capruccio was. And you didn’t exactly roll out of the cornfields of Kansas yesterday.”

For a moment, he saw a faint tugging at her lips, like a small smile trying to break through. But what kind of smile? Sad, bitter, humorous, sweet? There was nothing in her eyes to give it away.

“If you know so much about Les,” she said out loud, “then surely you know he’s not an easy man to defy.”

For the first time he nodded. And for the first time she thought she saw a glimmer of something besides the speculative disdain in his eyes. Maybe respect. It was hard to be sure.

“Was it worth it?” Mitch asked abruptly. “Was putting him away worth all this?” He gestured to the room with his large hands.

This time she did smile, a small smile of satisfaction. “Oh, yes,” she told him with conviction. “It definitely was.”

He digested this. So whatever sentiments she had toward Capruccio, they weren’t affectionate ones. But why hadn’t she admitted to it on the stand?

He looked at her long and hard.

“And if it does cost you your life?” he asked loudly in the quiet of the house, “will it still be worth it?”

She looked at him almost impatiently. “Come now, Mr. Guiness. Do you honestly believe that it won’t?”

“Won’t be worth it?”

“No, won’t cost me my life.”

He paused for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his eyes were intensely serious. “Not as long as you’re here it won’t,” he told her evenly.

She looked him over once again, her cool eyes appraising this time. He could almost see the struggle in her face, her assessment warring with her obvious dislike of him.

Abruptly she turned away with a small shrug.

“Perhaps” was all she was willing to concede. “But the problem is,” she continued levelly, “sooner or later I will leave here. And what then, Mr. Guiness? What then?”

“In the next two weeks you’ll find out,” he told her.

She shook her head, moving over to her bags.

“I already know,” she said softly. “You do, too. But it will be interesting to see how long it takes Les to find me. And it will be even more interesting to see how much it will cost him. Because I won’t go down without a fight. Not this time, Mr. Guiness.”

The very dispassionate nature of her voice seemed to lend the words credibility. He felt it again, the glimmer of emotion he didn’t want to feel toward this arctic supermodel: respect.

“Mitch,” he found himself saying. “Call me Mitch.”

She gave him a sideways glance, then shook her head. “It won’t do you any good to tell me your name,” she informed him coolly as she unzipped the first bag. “I don’t bother to learn names.”

The words were so arrogant, so completely cold, they practically begged to be challenged. And Mitch Guiness was not a man who passed up challenges.

He found himself moving forward before he formed a conscious plan. He didn’t stop until he was a mere six inches from her, the movement bringing her head up.

This close, he could see the faint filter of emotions flickering across her eyes. Only one could he pinpoint directly: wariness. Her chin came up, and she looked ready to meet his challenge head-on.

He raked her up and down, his eyes penetrating and intense. Leaning even closer, he caught the faint hint of a light fragrance. Peaches, he thought abruptly. He smelled peaches. And damned if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever smelled.

“By the end of this week,” he uttered softly, “you’ll know my name, Jessica Gavornée. And you’ll know it well.”

Her chin came up even higher.

“You may leave now,” she informed him coldly, her eyes not giving any ground at all. “I have things to do.”

Oh, he wanted to press her further, he realized suddenly. He wanted to take another step forward until his face was inches from hers. He wanted to push her until the arctic control gave way, and he was looking at the woman instead of the carefully constructed Ice Angel.

He wanted to kiss her until the ice melted into passion, until she clung to him and whispered his name in fiery heat.

The thought came out of nowhere, and slammed into his gut with a fierceness that almost staggered him. What was he doing, having such thoughts about a witness?

Stunned at his own reaction, he took a step back instead. She watched him move back, and once again nothing flickered in her eyes.

The woman would drive even a saint to madness, he rationalized to himself, shaking his head like a man just emerging from a stupor. He moved back to the relative sanity of the doorway.