Chapter Ten

The cold, winter-afternoon air heightened all Allison’s senses. Sloan’s body atop her was the most delicious torture she’d endured in a very long time. His spicy pheromones surrounded her like an aphrodisiac. His weight held her captive between snow and sky.

Empowered by his signals—flaring nostrils and darkening eyes—she slithered under him. At the sensual sound of her slippery jacket against his, passion flared behind his half-lowered eyelids and her breath caught in her throat.

He felt so right.

Too bad they weren’t alone. Part of her wanted to abandon all reserve, and part of her was grateful for Mitchell’s presence. “Let me up.” Her words were miles away from her feelings. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want him to leave her.

She wanted. Wanted him to touch her. Kiss her. Until the snow and the sky and the moon and the stars disappeared. She wanted to reach the heavens—and she wanted Sloan to take her there.

“That was fun.” Mitchell’s voice drew closer as he jogged toward them. “Sloan, I found your glasses.”

Sloan gave her one last heated look before rolling off and rising to his feet. He took his sunglasses from Mitch. “That was fun, wasn’t it, champ?”

He held a hand out to Allison and she took it. With one smooth pull, he helped her to her feet.

Allison took a moment to steady her breathing. Winter air and high elevation exerted certain stressors on the human body. Yet, Sloan’s nearness drained her in a completely different way. Her recovery wasn’t quick, but then, she noticed, his wasn’t either.

He took his time brushing snow off his cap and snowsuit. Removing his other glove, he whacked it against his thigh, then put both of them back on, not once glancing in her direction. For almost a full minute, he avoided her gaze.

When he finally looked up, she was struck by his dispassionate expression. The emotions that only moments ago had churned in the depths of his dark brown eyes, were gone. He slid his sunglasses on but not before she caught his bland, neutral gaze. Just like last night—he’d pulled away from her again.

Well, that was what she really wanted, wasn’t it? To stay uninvolved. Detached. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

What she needed was to stay focused on the hacker. If the power would come back on, she could slip into her cyber-world where Sloan couldn’t touch her anymore.

Except he had touched her. In places more remote and sensitive than any physical contact. She feared it might already be too late to go back to the person she was before.

****

By evening, the power still hadn’t returned. The local crews had yet to clear the county road and there was no way to know if the state roads were open all the way to Boise. They were stranded, at least for one more night.

Allison shivered as Sloan held the match a moment longer to make sure the candle stayed lit. The flame flickered before taking hold of the candlewick.

The glowing flame drew the boundaries of intimacy closer. So many moments throughout the day—laughing with genuine humor at one of Sloan’s jokes, rejoicing in the teamwork when they completed the snowman, and the intoxicating weight of his body on hers—each moment had chipped away at her firewall. She’d let her guard down. Yet she didn’t feel hemmed in.

Somewhere between putting the sleds away and eating another cold meal, it had hit her. She no longer felt threatened by Sloan. She had allowed him all the way into her life.

With the road closed and power still out, she faced another night in Sloan’s company.

“Done!” Mitchell finished counting out the play money and announced it was time to roll the dice to see who went first. Sloan had suggested playing the banking board game to pass the evening. Mitchell had been fascinated by stories of how Sloan’s father managed the world of high-finance and property, comparing it to the game. When he found out that Mitchell had never played, Sloan had insisted he learn.

Once the playing pieces were decided, Mitchell won the toss and took the first turn.

An hour later, Sloan and Mitchell had bankrupted Allison. Not once did Sloan give her nephew a break. Watching the two as they negotiated and bartered over cards and property, Allison realized that Sloan refused to play down to the level of a child. He treated Mitchell as an equal. He also treated Mitchell like the man of the house while his parents were away. Unbidden, her feelings for Sloan grew deeper.

She was a little envious of the attention Sloan gave Mitchell. Just once, she wished he would notice her—as a woman, not a coworker. Then she berated herself. They were coworkers. She had a job to do. She couldn’t let personal feelings get in the way.

Finding the hacker was paramount. That was much more important than her puny feelings. When she finished the program, Sloan would be on his way. She wouldn’t need to go to L.A. Once he was gone, she’d be safely alone again—able to put her life back together.

When she returned to the office after her vacation, these couple of days would only be a memory. If Sloan remembered his time here at all, it would be as a pleasant diversion. Not the sophisticated entertainment he was used to. Definitely not the heart-rending revelation Allison was experiencing.

“I win!” Mitchell’s triumphant shout brought her back to the present. Her nephew greedily rubbed his hands together while Sloan counted out his funny money to pay for the rent on the high-rent property.

Mitchell tallied his winnings. “I like this game,” he told Allison. “How come you and Mom don’t play it?”

She shrugged. “Too many other things to do, I guess. When your mom gets home, we’ll play again.”

“We could play it again tomorrow while Sloan’s here,” Mitchell suggested.

Allison didn’t want to think of Sloan leaving, but it was inevitable. “If he’s still here,” she corrected. “And if he wants to.”

“Hey, now who’s talking like I’m not here. I get some say, don’t I?” Sloan smiled at Mitchell.

Allison laughed. She could love Sloan if for nothing more than the camaraderie he’d shown her nephew. She could love Sloan for a lot of reasons, none of which justified putting her heart on the line, yet there it was. Unless Sloan was blind, he had to see it, too.

He helped Mitchell pack up the game and clear the kitchen table.

“I’m tired.” Mitchell stretched and gave a yawn.

“You’ve had a busy day.” She indulged her nephew with a grin. “Get ready for bed. We’ll turn in early tonight.”

“Where does this go?” Sloan held up the game.

“Upstairs. In my bedroom.” Allison held out her hand. “Here, I can take—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’ll put it away.”

“Thanks.” Allison gave him a smile. “In the closet. Top shelf.”

****

Sloan couldn’t remember a more enjoyable day. In fact, it was one of the most perfect days he’d ever spent. If only O’Neal’s allegations and that cloud of doubt weren’t hanging over his head.

The contradictions between what he saw with his own eyes, and what he’d been told about Allison, ate at him. He wanted to force the issue. He wanted Allison to explain how Tom and O’Neal could possibly believe she was the hacker. Yet, he couldn’t break his promise to O’Neal.

The director never made accusations without hard facts. If Byron said he had proof of her guilt, then he must have it. Until Sloan saw it for himself, he had no choice but to keep his promise and let this charade play out on Allison’s timetable and terms.

Mitch had given Sloan a tour of the house earlier in the day, showing off all the upstairs rooms. Now, he followed the flashlight’s beam to the first bedroom on the right. Allison’s room.

He felt as though he was invading her privacy when he opened the door, but she had given permission for him to enter. And she hadn’t slept in this room since he’d been here. Her bedroom was just another room, not a place where she spent time.

He opened the closet and put the game on the top shelf, sliding it back from the edge. The flashlight’s beam caught a splash of gold. He angled the light higher and found a picture frame. Curious, and a bit nosy, he reached for it.

The double frame held a picture of Allison on one side. Her arm tightly bound in a sling, receiving a certificate from a uniformed police officer. On the other side was a ribbon. The police department’s version of the Purple Heart for being wounded in the line of duty.

The look on her face was haunted as she accepted the recognition award. Her eyes weren’t focused on the officer, but somewhere beyond the photographer. Her expression reflected the pain she must have felt after losing a partner and facing her own mortality. As Sloan studied the picture, he wondered if she had truly let go of the past.

He put the picture back, shifting a stack of papers as he did. The top paper with a Northstar Security Firm logo on the upper left corner caught his attention.

Thinking it was Allison’s acceptance to the firm, he picked up the letter. The date at the top of the page was nearly a year before she started working for Northstar. Probably her first communication from the firm after she’d left the department. He was about to put it back when he noticed the letter wasn’t addressed to Allison.

Disregarding the fact that he was looking at private correspondence, he continued to read. It was addressed to Ed Tallon, Allison’s brother-in-law. The first paragraph stated in clear terms a refusal of Ed’s request for Northstar to investigate Allison’s shooting. Politely, apologetically, the letter declared the shooting and investigation were governed by the jurisdiction of the Idaho State Police department. Without their authorization, Northstar couldn’t intervene.

It was signed personally by Byron O’Neal.

Sloan stared at the letter, feeling blood pound at his temples. Regardless of this morning’s conversation with O’Neal, Sloan doubted Allison was the hacker. Everything about her screamed innocence. However, this letter revealed a past association with Northstar she’d kept secret.

She’d been extremely candid about O’Neal’s initial offer, her refusal and about the shooting that ended her police career. Why hadn’t she said anything about asking for Northstar’s help when they talked last night? Could this letter prove motive to harm Northstar’s reputation? Did she feel vindictive? Was she so angry over the loss of her partner? Angry enough to ruin O’Neal’s reputation because he refused to investigate the shooting?

It didn’t make sense. Northstar’s policy to stay away from her case was clear-cut. The Allison he had come to know was a brave and determined woman who overcame tremendous odds. She appeared to have moved on with her life. Was it possible she had fooled him? Fooled O’Neal?

Sloan replaced the letter and straightened the items on the shelf. He headed downstairs with questions burning in his brain. How could he approach Allison to learn more? How could he find the truth without breaking his word to O’Neal?

When Sloan entered the kitchen, she was elbow deep in suds, washing the dishes. A floorboard creaked under the weight of his feet.

She heard him and turned slightly without looking up from her chore. “Mitchell was completely worn out from his fun today. He’s already asleep. I’m just about done here. If you want to get ready for bed, I’ll stay out of the room for a moment.”

He was glad Mitch was in the other room and out of earshot. He wanted this conversation in privacy. “Allison.”

She glanced over at him, a question in her eyes.

“Did they ever catch the shooters?” She’d left out that detail last night. He watched her reaction closely. Over the years, he’d learned a great deal about body language—how to tell a person’s state of mind by watching subtle movements. In the glow of the candlelight, he saw her back stiffen.

“No.” She stared down at the water in the sink and quietly continued washing.

“Both of the suspects are still at large?”

She nodded. “Funny,” she said after a moment. “You’d think with all the forensic evidence gathered at the scene, the authorities could piece together a case that would lead to an arrest.” She shook her head, causing her braid to sway against her back. “Those two shooters just disappeared.”

Sloan hoped she’d say something about the letter and the request for Northstar’s help with the investigation. When she didn’t say more, he leaned against the kitchen wall, watching her put the last dish in the drain board.

“That’s it.” She wiped her hands with a towel and then turned to look at him. “Everything’s cleaned up.”

Her voice sounded a little too bright. Her smile was too forced. In the last twenty-four hours, he’d learned to expect a sparkle in her eyes when she smiled. It wasn’t there. He thought he knew how to read people, but tonight, reading Allison proved troublesome and frustrating.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” She cocked an eyebrow.

The change of subject sounded too much like an invitation—completely out of character.

He shook his head. He wasn’t sure what was happening and that made him more suspicious. Why suddenly change the subject? Was she that ready to jump into his arms? Just yesterday, she was doing everything to keep him away. She’d been approachable—friendlier—this afternoon, but people didn’t change who they were that quickly.

How could he be attracted to her and not see her duplicity? Was he so bewitched by her charms, he was willing to be fooled? Or was he overanalyzing everything she did and said?

“Aren’t you tired?” She sounded both concerned and amused.

“No, I guess not.” He moved from the wall and took a step toward her.

“Sloan—” Her voice faltered. “I…I’ve been wrong about you.”

He stopped. What was she talking about?

“You don’t have to say anything.” She rushed on. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What are you saying?”

“You. Or rather, us. Last night, you said I was different here than at work. Well, you’re different, too. At work you’re…” She paused.

“Bossy? Arrogant?” he offered.

“Maybe. A little.” She gave an awkward gesture with her hands. “Since you’ve been here, you’ve been… Well, I can admit when I’m wrong.”

After a statement like that from any other woman, he might have pressed for an advantage. Now, he wasn’t sure if Allison was being honest or playing some other game to keep him from guessing her agenda. She’d diverted the conversation too quickly. Had he given away his suspicions with his questions?

She closed the distance between them, rested her hands on his chest, and leaned toward him. The fresh scent of lavender wafted toward him just before soft lips brushed his.

His body responded instantly. Warmth spread through him like sunshine on a clear day. His gut tightened and thighs clenched. He’d never reacted to a kiss, a peck really, so spontaneously.

She drew back—would have stepped away, but he captured her arms and drew her to him. What was wrong with him? This woman could be plotting his downfall and all he could think about was savoring the sweet taste of her mouth.

Unconcealed desire glowed on her face. “Sloan?”

He cupped the back of her neck. The tentative brush of his mouth was a whisper. Like a gentle snow, melting as the earth absorbs the first delicate flakes.

She whimpered in surrender and parted her lips.

That was all he needed. He didn’t hold back. He gathered her to him, crushing her against his chest.

She responded with her whole body, wrapped her arms around his neck, and wove long, slender fingers into his hair.

She tasted clean and pure, like the snowcapped mountains outside. Sensations churned with greater intensity than the snowstorm that had brought him to her doorstep. To his dying day, Sloan knew he would never experience anything, or anyone, as intoxicating as Allison.