KELLY PEERED CLOSELY at Trey. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Or maybe that he’d just learned Santa Claus was a big fat myth.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Not really. It just hit me how dangerous your job is.”
“I’ll be fine, Trey.”
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair, something she’d recognized as a tell that meant he was anxious.
Was he worried about her? She ducked her head to hide a smile. She shouldn’t want anyone to worry about her, but the thought that this sexy and powerful man might care about her safety on the job created a warm glow in her chest.
Pathetic. Really pathetic. The sooner she got off this island the better.
“Have you finished packing?” he asked in a tone that told her he’d accepted the fact she was leaving.
“Yes,” she replied. “Listen, can I borrow a car for a few days until I can make other arrangements?”
“Of course,” Trey said. “Keep it as long as you like. How about an Italian sports car, maybe a convertible?”
“Maybe not. Do you have anything a little less showy?”
“An SUV?”
“That’ll work. Thanks.” She’d need to disguise herself, put her hair under a cap and wear sunglasses when she drove off the ferry. She’d be in an unfamiliar vehicle, and the paparazzi—if they were even waiting—would ignore her.
A silence fell between them, and Kelly followed his gaze to look out over the stunning elegance of his lit pool deck. She breathed in the sweet fragrance of Trey’s night-blooming jasmine, a scent she’d always associate with these amazing nighttime swims. She really would miss this place.
And its owner.
Feeling a chill now that she’d stopped moving, Kelly tightened the robe around herself. She’d fallen into the luxury of Trey Wentworth’s life far more easily than she could have imagined. Would she ever see him again? Yeah, in a tabloid or maybe on an entertainment television show.
She switched her gaze to his profile. What was he thinking? With a sinking feeling she understood he wasn’t going to say anything about them hooking up after she’d moved out. Or even about her spending tonight in his bed.
Of course she’d planned to refuse that offer, if it came—it would only make her leaving harder—but damn if she hadn’t wanted the invitation.
God, she was such a loser. She’d actually been holding out the ridiculous hope that Trey Wentworth would want to see her again. Would want to make love to her again. He might not want her standing in front of a bullet, but that was just common decency. It didn’t mean anything more.
“Well, I’d better turn in,” she said. “I’ve got an early morning.”
“I’ll make sure there’s something for you in the breakfast room,” he said.
“That’s not necessary.”
Trey shot her a look, which only confused her. Why was it so hard to say goodbye to this man?
“About that car?” she prompted.
“I’ll instruct Hans to leave the SUV in the driveway for you. The keys will be in the ignition.”
“Perfect,” she said, coming to her feet. Should she stick out her arm and shake his hand? No, she’d just pretend this was like any other night, even though it was likely the last time she’d speak to him.
She took a deep breath, hoping to get away without him noticing she was fighting tears. He’d read too much into that, want to know why. If she did, she could always tell him she’d miss Jason. That was the truth.
“Good night, Trey.” She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye.
Trey reached out and gently pulled her into a hug. “Promise me you’ll be careful tomorrow,” he said, his voice sounding muffled and far away.
“I promise.” She held herself stiffly, afraid to release into his warmth, afraid she’d never want to exit his embrace, terrified she’d raise her chin and beg for her good-night kiss. She closed her eyes telling herself she could get through this. She’d certainly gotten through worse.
He released her and ran a gentle hand down her cheek, staring into her face with eyes that spoke of loneliness and regrets.
“Thank you, Kelly.”
“For what?” she whispered.
“For being you.” He kissed her then, his lips meeting hers with a brief feather light touch. But his face remained close, his breath hot on her chin. She had the distinct impression he wanted to say something. And then his mouth was on hers again, kissing her as if he didn’t want to let her go, pressing his body into hers. She couldn’t help but lean into him and slide her arms around his waist. Yes, this was what she wanted, what she needed.
But when she heard moans of pleasure rumbling in her throat, she pulled back, a hand to her lips, knowing those little noises gave her away as surely as a signed confession. Their gazes locked and understanding passed between them. Yes, he did want to make love to her.
But it would be the last time. There’d never be anything else but one more night of mind-blowing passion, and that wouldn’t be enough. Not for her anyway. Still, she hesitated for a moment, tempted, wanting to open his shirt and place her cheek against his bare chest and feel his heart race, even if it would be the dumbest thing she’d ever done.
No way. This parting was already too hard.
Without saying a word, she turned and fled to the safety of her room. Trey didn’t follow her.
* * *
“ADAM CHANDLER, THIS is the FBI.” Ballard’s voice boomed into the quiet dawn. “You are surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”
Crouched behind an FBI vehicle, gun drawn, her heart racing, Kelly waited with dozens of FBI agents for a response to Ballard’s demand. Everyone focused on a one-story concrete block home with peeling paint and a blue tarp suspended over one section of the roof. A rusted truck sat in the front yard full of weeds growing higher than the truck’s bumper.
Ballard raised the microphone to his mouth and repeated his instructions, his amplified voice sounding loud, yet thin and grainy, through the speakers.
Still no response. Kelly shifted her weight. What was Chandler doing inside that house? Not taking her focus from the front door, she raised a shoulder and brushed sweat from her cheek. The early morning was cool, but she was beyond excited.
Ballard raised his microphone again.
A barrage of gunshots exploded out a front window before he could speak. Definitely an automatic weapon. Ballard cursed.
“Anybody hit?” he yelled.
Kelly held her breath, but everyone was okay. Now what? If this were her department’s op, they’d use a negotiator and try to talk Chandler down.
“Make the call,” Ballard ordered a woman at his side.
So the FBI followed the same protocol. Kelly exhaled roughly and lowered her weapon, as did the other agents. Likely they were in for a long morning.
Two hours later, Ballard summoned Kelly and introduced her to Agent Alexa Nardi, a striking woman who looked to be of Indian descent, maybe forty years of age, the FBI negotiator.
“Agent Nardi has initiated communication with a gentleman inside that structure who claims to be Caleb Chandler, Adam’s cousin,” Ballard said. “The morning you rescued the Wentworth kid, did you learn the name of Chandler’s associate?”
“Yes,” Kelly said. “Caleb.”
“Caleb insists Adam isn’t in the house, that he left in the middle of the night,” Ballard said.
“Could they have gotten a warning?” Kelly asked.
“Good question,” Ballard said.
“If so, why didn’t Caleb flee, as well?” Nardi asked.
“I’m surprised Caleb doesn’t surrender,” Kelly said. “He was definitely not on board with violence that morning. He fled the scene, which really pissed off Adam.”
“He’s high on something,” Nardi said. “Not thinking clearly.”
Kelly nodded. “My initial impression was that they were both users.”
“And I think he’s getting higher,” Nardi added. “He’s not coming down anytime soon.”
“Great.” Eyes narrowed, Ballard glanced toward the house, obviously considering his options.
So what would he do now? Stage an assault on the residence? That could result in people injured or dead, including law enforcement. The FBI needed Caleb alive so they could pump him for information about Adam’s possible locations. So would they wait Caleb out? Wait until he crashed? He could possibly OD and they’d never get any intel.
She was an observer, nothing more, a rookie cop without the experience to offer any tactical solutions. But, man, was she ever enjoying herself.
The phone in Nardi’s hand buzzed, the one dedicated to communication with Caleb. Kelly stared at Nardi as she answered.
“Yeah, Caleb. Okay. I’m glad to hear that. Yeah, keep your hands in the air. No sudden moves.”
She disconnected. “He’s coming out.”
“Heads up,” someone shouted. “The door is opening.”
Kelly and everyone else looked toward the residence. Caleb, now sporting a ragged beard, looking even more emaciated than he had in the park, exited the front door. She tensed. His arms were over his head, but a rifle of some sort was suspended in his hands.
Did this fool have a death wish?
She went for her weapon and bent her knees to make herself a smaller target.
“Take cover,” Ballard shouted.
Caleb lowered the rifle and began firing.
* * *
TREY SLAMMED HIS most recent letter from Wentworth Industries’ comptroller onto his desk, pushed back in his chair and scrubbed his palms over his face. He glanced at the time on his computer monitor again. After 11:00 a.m., and he hadn’t heard word one from the FBI.
Or from Kelly.
An hour ago his anger at the lack of communication had grown to fury. Now he was ready to explode.
He’d intended to spend the morning plotting his return to WI. But it had been hours since the FBI’s operation to take down Adam Chandler had begun, so instead he left his desk every twenty minutes to wander around his home, check on Jason, trying not to give in to his worry.
Until he knew what occurred this morning in Homestead, he couldn’t concentrate on anything, much less the questionable decisions his father had been making.
He moved to a window and glanced outside at his pool deck where Jason played, watched over by two bodyguards. Trey smiled at the sight of his son’s antics, grateful his son was happy, safe and secure.
He understood the Bureau’s negligence, but Kelly knew how anxious he was to learn if Jason’s kidnappers had been apprehended. She definitely should have phoned him by now. Or at least sent an impersonal text. She knew he was worried about her.
True, he hadn’t asked her to keep him informed, but he didn’t think he needed to. This silence wasn’t like her.
Something was wrong.
He grabbed his phone. No voice mail. No text. He’d already left half a dozen messages on her voice mail. No point in leaving another.
What if something had gone wrong, dangerously, life-threateningly wrong?
He had to know. But once again he was powerless. As he’d been when Jason was abducted. As he was to help his mother.
If an FBI sting had turned violently sour, there might be something on the noon news. He looked at the pool where Jason still played. He’d probably stay there awhile.
Trey picked up the remote and activated a door concealing a huge flat-screen inside a bookcase. After the door slid open, he turned on the television, found a local channel that featured noon news and sat on the edge of his desk to watch.
He stared at the screen not listening or seeing anything until loud, familiar music filled the room and a voice blared, “Stay tuned for Action News.”
After the station’s graphics ran, an image appeared of an active police scene, obviously shot from a helicopter. Dozens of marked police cars, unmarked cars, uniformed and plain-clothed officers swarmed the area.
Trey rose and moved closer to the screen, confirming the uniform was the same one Kelly wore. Where was she?
“Breaking news,” the female voiceover announced. “Shots fired during a violent FBI operation. One shooter and two law enforcement officers are down.”
His gut clenched. Trey swore harshly, searching for her in the confused video, which the station claimed was live. Would he even recognize her? It was impossible to make out facial features.
Or was Kelly one of the injured officers? No ambulance appeared on the screen, so whoever had been wounded had already been rushed to a hospital. Could he call and get a name? No way. Only family.
He wasn’t family. Not even close.
As the live feed continued to play, the voiceover reported the shooting was in connection with the kidnapping of the heir to the fortune of Wentworth Industries. The station’s sources maintained a suspect exited the structure approximately two hours ago and opened fire on law enforcement with no provocation. There was no further information because the scene was still active.
He paced the room. What could he do? Storm the hospital and make demands? Embarrass the hell out of Kelly? Tough. If she were alive, he’d deal with...
The ring tone he’d programmed for Kelly sounded. He grabbed his phone. “Kelly?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He closed his eyes in relief and collapsed into his chair, sending a prayer heavenward. She was alive. Thank God she was alive. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, wondering at the force of his reaction.
And realized he was in love with her.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, muting the TV. “I’m watching the television coverage live.”
“I’m fine. My phone was off. This is the first second I’ve had to call you.”
“But you’re all right?”
“I’m good. Just so you know, Adam wasn’t here. Caleb is critical.”
“What do you mean Adam wasn’t there?”
“He either got advance warning of the op or lucky. We’ve searched the residence. This is definitely where he’d holed up, but he fled.”
“So he’s still out there?”
“Yeah, but likely no longer in the area. Ballard thinks he’s on the run. The FBI will apprehend him eventually.”
“But you weren’t shot? You’re okay?”
“I said I’m fine,” she said, sounding annoyed. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I just wanted to fill you in.”
“Kelly, I—”
But the phone went dead. She was gone, to a place where he didn’t belong, where he couldn’t reach her.
By some sick twist of fate he’d fallen in love with Kelly Jenkins, a woman totally unlike any other woman he’d known, a woman who worked with a bull’s-eye on her back. Even if the FBI caught Adam Chandler, there were plenty of other sickos in this world gunning for cops these days.
His son had already lost one mother. It wouldn’t be fair to let him get attached to another woman and lose her, too. Jase had been through too much in his short life. He might never recover from that loss.
Better to make this break with Kelly complete and permanent.
Jason was young. He’d forget her in time.
Trey turned away from the television, a sense of cold emptiness creeping into his limbs.
His son might forget Kelly Jenkins, but he never would.