Hotwire reached altitude and put the plane on autopilot. He started checking the instruments, a sense of unease niggling at the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right. His security checks had been okay before takeoff. None of his alarm systems had indicated anything out of the ordinary, but something still didn’t feel right.
He went back over their arrival at the airport, seeing the others off, boarding his plane with Claire…she’d been asking him about returning to Portland. He’d been expecting an argument when he told her he wanted to take her to Montana, but she’d surprised him by acquiescing. He’d figured out why it had been so easy a few minutes later when he caught her yawning. Logically, sending her back to take a nap was the right thing to do, but his gut was telling him otherwise.
Why?
He scanned the radar and saw an upcoming pressure system. It might get choppy, but he could fly around the system. No, that wasn’t it…
He went back in his mind to the moment they’d walked onto the plane. He’d had a sense that someone had been in the main cabin, but his security system had verified there had been no entry since he and Claire left it three days ago. He’d looked around the cabin, but not so much as a seat belt had been out of place.
So, why had he thought someone had been on the plane?
Then it hit him. He’d smelled a very faint trace of something. It had been so faint, it hadn’t registered with his conscious mind because he’d been too focused on explaining their trip to Montana to Claire.
He searched his memory bank for the scent…it had been girlie. He was up and running on silent feet to the back of the cabin as he realized what that pseudo-feminine fragrance had actually been.
The cologne of Claire’s attacker.
He stopped outside the bedroom. The door was ajar and he could see Claire—not her face, but her body. No one was near her but he heard a man’s voice.
“What made you suspect me?”
“You’d been to visit Lester the week before his death. He mistook you for your father, didn’t he?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize at first what had happened. It wasn’t until he started spouting off about turning down the job that I knew who he was. My father had deplorable sense when it came to hiring the right employees for the right jobs.”
“You aren’t similarly afflicted, I suppose?” Claire asked, her voice showing no evidence of fear or nervousness.
He was so damn proud of her, but he was going to kill the son of bitch in there with her. The man had to be holding her somehow, and since it wasn’t physically, Brett guessed the guy had a gun. Otherwise Claire would have come running back to the cockpit.
“No.”
“So, who did you hire to help you with this job?”
“Who said I hired anyone?”
“You got past Brett’s security measures. That took some doing. I don’t see you being a computer specialist.”
“I’m not.”
“Then…” She was fishing and he was impressed at how well she did it. If she could just keep him talking another couple of minutes, they should hit that pressure front and the plane was going to get jiggy damn fast.
Hotwire would make his move then.
“Tell me who else believes I’m responsible for the old man’s death and I’ll tell you who I hired.”
“You go first.”
“I decline.”
Claire gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re not going to like hearing this, but maybe it will make you reconsider your plans for me and Brett. The suits in Washington know all about you and one of them is really annoyed with you.”
Keely swore. “They don’t have anything linking me to the old man’s death.”
“There’s the kill book.”
“Which is embarrassing, but not any kind of proof I killed a geriatric.”
“Then there’s your cologne…and the fact that you attacked me.”
“You can’t be sure it was me.”
“You left footprints outside my house.”
“My shoes aren’t handmade, either.”
Claire shrugged. “Tell me who sold Brett out.”
“You’re so sure it was someone who knows him?”
“My acquaintances are mostly going senile and dealing with the aftereffects of hip replacement surgeries and the like. None of them knew about Brett, either.”
“I didn’t, either, until he attended the funeral with you. From there, it was relatively easy to get the intelligence I needed to track you two down.”
“Who gave it to you?” Claire repeated, with a stubbornness Hotwire recognized and applauded.
Another couple of seconds and he could move in.
Keely said a name that made Brett frown. It was another merc, a man who was as good with the computer as he was deadly. He had no scruples and even less conscience. He would kill his own family for the right price. Brett had been on a couple of missions where he’d been a member of the team, and he’d refused to work with the other merc after the second time.
He wasn’t surprised at all that the other merc had helped a slimeball like Keely, but he was pissed as hell that he had been able to overcome Hotwire’s security measures.
The plane jerked and dipped.
Claire cried out and fell, and Keely swore just before another bump sounded from the other side of the bedroom.
Claire crawled out of the bedroom at speed, surging to her feet as she gained the main cabin. Hotwire grabbed her and shoved her into the tiny galley. Keely came rushing from the bedroom, gun first. Hotwire knocked the gun out of his hand and then coldcocked him with a single punch.
“Secure him,” he shouted at Claire as he ran for the cockpit. The plane was shaking wildly and he needed to make evasive maneuvers fast.
He got the plane settled and rushed back to Claire, to find that she had tied Keely and was trying to drag him toward the closet.
Hotwire gently pushed her out of the way and took care of dumping the man in the closet after making a thorough search for weapons, particularly anything sharp enough to cut his bonds.
“I already did that. I put what I found over there,” Claire said, indicating the small table between two of the seats.
Hotwire didn’t bother to look before jamming the closet door shut so it could not be opened. “That will hold him until we land.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He took her into his arms and held her so tight she squeaked. He forced himself to loosen his grip…a little. “Sugar, that was one scary few minutes.”
“Tell me about it. I was scared to death he was going to get bored talking and decide to shoot me and then you.”
“I’m damn glad he didn’t, but I don’t understand why not.”
“He wanted it to look like an accident. He had two syringes with him. I bet it’s the same stuff he gave Lester to induce a heart attack. He brought a parachute pack…I think he planned to kill us with the poison and let the plane crash, making it all look like an accident.”
“It sounds like you had it all worked out, sweetheart.”
“Everything but how to get away from him and warn you.”
“Turbulence worked nicely.”
“Yes, it did, but I’m surprised you didn’t fly under it or something. You’re really good at avoiding that sort of thing, I noticed on the flight out.”
He told her about his realization that something was wrong and his plan to use the turbulence to make his move. Then he led her back to the cockpit, where he settled her into her seat before heading the plane for the airport near D.C. that he’d landed in the day before.
Once he reached the ground, he called Ethan on his cell phone and arranged for pickup of the prisoner. He and Claire had to make statements, and it was late the next day before he was allowed to take her to Montana as he’d originally planned.
Claire was relieved to discover that Brett’s house was nothing like his parents’ home. It was a simple, single-story ranch and she liked it. A lot. The living areas all had a sense of spaciousness that she really enjoyed and thought would be great for a family.
The décor surprised her, though. He preferred geometric lines and bright spots of color with warm overtones. The artwork on the walls was a mixture of his and other artists’, but all of it was striking.
“Where do you paint?” she asked as he led her through the living room.
“My studio is in the back of the house. Would you like to see it?” There was an undertone in his voice she didn’t get.
She looked at him questioningly, but said, “Yes.”
He nodded, his own expression so serious and intent that it would have scared her if she hadn’t had all the fear squeezed out of her the day before on a flight no one would call uneventful.
She followed him through a doorway into a huge room. It ran almost the entire length of the back of the house and was easily fifteen feet deep. This man took his need to relax through art seriously. Multiple skylights bathed the room in bright natural sunlight while the walls were covered with paintings in different stages of production.
Some oils were obviously not done. There were watercolors, too, and acrylics…but they all had one thing in common. Their subject: Her.
Every single painting she saw was of her. Some were of her sleeping. When had he seen her doing that? One was of her standing over a burning toaster, her expression resigned. She remembered the morning not long after meeting him for the first time that she had burnt her breakfast toast. He’d teased her because she couldn’t blame it on the toaster. She’d been reading a programming manual and pressed the button down twice instead of taking the toast out when it was done.
She moved around the room, her heart pounding as she looked at one painting after another of herself. Each expressed some different facial emotion. She stopped in front of one that showed her sitting on the end of the couch, her expression vulnerable.
“I was thinking about you.”
“I didn’t know that, but something in your expression called to me.”
She turned and her breath came out in a loud gasp as she saw a life-size oil, definitely finished. “You never saw me naked before. How could you have painted this?”
“I saw you a hundred times in my dreams. Amazing how accurate it is, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t answer. Her tongue wouldn’t work, but he was right. For a man who had only his imagination to go on, he’d done an incredible job of portraying her nude body.
“A gallery in New York has been trying to get me to show for months, but this is my best work and I couldn’t share it with the public, not without admitting that you meant way too much to me.”
She reached out and touched the painting, running her finger along the line of the lifelike curve of her breast to a nipple beaded with desire. “I look like I’m waiting for you to come back to bed.”
In the painting, she was in the middle of a big four-poster bed with sheets the color of the sunset, and while the top sheet covered one thigh, the rest of her body was completely open to his view.
“In my mind you were.”
“I just cannot believe you painted all of these of me.”
“It was the only thing that kept my sanity while I was so busy trying to hide from the feelings you brought out in me. I told myself you were simply an interesting subject.”
She dropped her hand and turned to face him then. “What feelings?”
“I told you, but you didn’t believe me. But I love you, Claire. I have for a long time. I blinded myself to it because…” His voice trailed off and his expression was pained.
“You didn’t want to break your promise to Elena.”
He sighed. “That was part of it, but it wasn’t all.”
“What else?”
“I loved Elena, but duty meant more to her than I did. I was afraid of the feelings I had for you…they were powerful, more powerful than anything I’d ever known.”
“You were afraid I would hurt you?”
He frowned, looking way less than pleased to be discussing this aspect of his emotions, but he nodded. “I sensed from the very beginning that you could hurt me more than she had and that bothered the hell out of me. I was such an idiot, Claire. I told myself I didn’t love you, that I couldn’t, that what I felt for you was better than love.”
“Maybe—”
“It is better than love, or at least the love I felt for Elena. What I feel for you is so much bigger, so much stronger, so much more than what I had with her. You’re the whole package, sugar, the one woman who makes my life complete. Can you understand that? I need you.”
She was going to cry, but she didn’t care. She never would have thought her hardened ex-merc could speak so poetically. “I’m not perfect,” she said with a choked voice.
“And I’m glad, because you are perfect the way you are for me. I love you so much, it scares me.”
“It scares me, too. I love you, Brett. So much.”
“I know, sugar, and I’ll thank God every day for the rest of my life that you do. Do you know that?”
She couldn’t answer and he didn’t seem to need her to.
He kissed her and then picked her up with his lips still locked to hers. He carried her to a bedroom and laid her on a bed and she saw that it was the bed in the painting.
“Is this what you call living out your fantasies?” she asked as he stripped out of his clothes.
He started undressing her, his hands purposeful and insistent as he took off first her shoes and socks and then her pants and top. He left her in her bra and panties, feeling more exposed than if she were completely naked.
He stepped back and looked at her, his expression filled with desire and tenderness. “Every moment with you is living out a fantasy, Claire. The best kind. Now, put your hands above your head, sugar.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to like looking at you that way.”
She laughed, doing as he said, enjoying the way it made her nipples rub against the lace of her bra. “I like it, too.”
“Now, keep them up there while I pull off your panties. Will you do that for me, sugar?”
“Yesssss.”
He didn’t remove her underwear right away, but first he traced all along the edges and then down over her mound, making her arch with need.
“That feels good,” she panted.
“Yes, darlin’, it does.” He played with her through the small patch of silk for a long time, until she was writhing under him and wanting his fingers on her naked flesh.
“Brett, please…”
Hotwire inhaled the sweet fragrance of Claire’s arousal and hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties. He wanted to touch her silky, wet heat as much as she wanted his fingers there. Having her here, in his bed, was something he’d fantasized about repeatedly, but never let himself contemplate really happening.
But now that she was his, he would never let her go. He started pulling them down her legs, going slowly, letting the silk caress her thighs as he went. “You are going to marry me, aren’t you, sugar?”
Her head was twisting side to side. “You…what?”
The panties came off and she spread her legs in open invitation to his touch.
He fluffed her curls and then dipped one finger into her honeyed heat. “Marriage. You and me becoming husband and wife. You’re going to marry me.”
“I love you,” she groaned.
“And I love you.” He thrust two fingers up inside of her.
She cried out.
“Say yes, Claire. I want to hear the words.” He didn’t know where the strength to talk was coming from, but he needed to know she was done balking at the last fence.
“Yes. Whatever you want, Brett. Anything. Just touch me.”
He crawled up so he was over her, their bodies aligned. He kept loving her with his fingers, but didn’t touch her clitoris or that special spot deep inside. “Now, that’s an intriguing proposition, sugar, but what I need from you is a cognizant acceptance of my marriage proposal.”
Her hands came down from above her head and she grabbed his penis and pulled it toward her opening. “Yes, I’m going to marry you, but I may kill you first if you don’t make love to me right this minute.”
He surged inside of her, kissing her at the same time. They came together almost immediately, their meshed mouths catching the other’s cries.
Afterward, he rolled on his back so she was on top of him.
She nuzzled his chest. “I wonder if we are going to have a girl or a boy.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not building any dynasties. I just want healthy kids.”
“Me, too.” She lifted her head so she could look him straight in that incredible blue-eyed gaze. “I don’t want a big wedding, like Josette’s. I’d rather get married on the beach with just you and me and our friends. And your immediate family. Okay?”
His heart tightened in his chest. “That sounds great, sugar. Perfect, in fact.”
“Can we go on a honeymoon?”
“Yes. Anywhere you want.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head on his chest. “I don’t care where. I just want to be with you and know that we’re there because we love each other and want to be together for our whole lives.”
“That sounds good, sugar, real good.”
“Yes, it does.” She hugged him tight and he wrapped his arms around her, accepting once and for all that there was nothing better than love, not the kind he shared with Claire, anyway.
They got married on the beach…in Mexico. His family came, and their friends. Queenie came, too, from her new home near Roswell where she, Josie’s dad, and his wife printed a small monthly newsletter that specialized in conspiracy theories and exposing government cover-ups. After the wedding, Hotwire took Claire to an all-inclusive resort and taught her to snorkel and scuba dive while she helped him perfect his kite-flying techniques.
William Keely died mysteriously while in jail awaiting trial. There were rumors that he had connections that would not like being sold out for a deal he was negotiating with the D.A. The D.A. had been reticent to cut the deal because evidence had been mounting that Keely had killed more than one person in his rise to power…starting with the problematic farmer who had stood in the way of his father’s land development.
Claire was just glad that some kind of justice had been served against Lester’s murderer. When she said so to Brett, he commented that she was awfully bloodthirsty, for a pacifist.
She pointed out that she wasn’t a pacifist.
She was just a woman who, when she loved, she loved deeply, and she was going to love Hamilton Brett Adams to the depths of her soul all the way into eternity.