Packing Heat (8 page)

There was just one problem. Sex was all she could think about now. She soaped up a washcloth and started scrubbing a little too hard. Her skin tingled, but her thoughts were still racing, back to Cole on top of her, behind her, his large body hard and hot against hers. He was contrary and pushy and ungrateful, she tried to remind herself, but then she remembered him at the jail, his shirt off, and his pants off, and somewhere along the line the remembering turned into fantasizing, and the scrubbing turned softer as she imagined him easing into the shower, his hands wet and soapy, sliding over her skin under the hot spray, over her aching breasts and down, across her belly, easing between her legs—

And then the hotel room door closed, the sound muffled by the running water, but the change in air pressure and the slight tremor she felt in her feet were unmistakable.

“Cole?” she yelled, but she was already ducking her head under the spray, taking precious seconds to rinse because she’d be no good to herself with shampoo running in her eyes.

She grabbed a towel and raced out of the bathroom, already knowing Cole was gone—along with the small roll of cash she’d had in her backpack.

“Damn,” she yelled. “Damn, damn, damn.” Grabbing the first T-shirt she found and fighting it over her wet head and damp skin, no bra, she stepped into panties and reached for her jeans, berating herself the whole time. “Idiot,” she said, “stupid, trusting moron who had to take a shower because she can’t handle a little discomfort,” and then she heard the doorknob rattle.

She froze just for a split-second, jeans halfway up one leg, still covering her foot, before she let go of the waistband and grabbed her gun, running across the room as silently as she could with a denim shackle. There was no time to look through the window or the peephole. She barely made it behind the door when it began to open, and she was blind, the door between her and whoever was coming through it, so she eased out and put her gun to the person’s back.

“I know I didn’t ask you what you wanted before I left, and the restaurant here is only one of those school cafeteria-style places so there wasn’t a lot of variety, but I’ll give you first choice,” Cole said, his voice unmistakable, both for its depth and the way it made her insides shiver.

“Cole,” Harmony said, exhaling in relief as she lowered the gun.

“Who were you expecting? Jimmy Hoffa?”

“Boris and Natasha. They found us once.”

“And you figured I was long gone.” He turned to face her, his eyes dropping immediately to her breasts, then lower. “Nice outfit. Is that the way you always greet Russian kidnappers?”

Harmony glanced down, then did a double take. Even from her vantage point it looked like she was participating in a wet T-shirt contest. “I was in the shower,” she reminded him, adding, “and don’t forget about the gun,” because she almost had, and if Cole kept staring at her like she was a buffet, the gun wasn’t all she’d forget.

“I thought you were going to start on the bank accounts.”

He shook his head. “Can’t concentrate on an empty stomach.”

She pulled her jeans on the rest of the way and escaped to the bathroom before Cole saw her anxiety, her fear, before she put her gun to his head and made him hack into those accounts so Richard didn’t have to suffer one more second.

If ever there was an occasion for chanting mantras, Harmony thought as she toweled her hair, this was it. Too bad she didn’t know any. She settled for some deep breathing and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

She changed her top—and added a bra. Once she’d managed enough control to make a reappearance, she found Cole already seated at the little round table, eating with a focus that amazed her.

“I thought you were giving me first choice,” she said, taking the seat across from him and surveying the sad array of edibles still remaining: a tuna sandwich, a small salad, two varieties of pie, and something that might have been a chili dog before twelve other kinds of food had been piled on top of it and turned it into a pile of orange glop.

“That was when you had a gun pointed at my spine. And before you spent a half hour in the bathroom. Not that I’m complaining,” he added, leering at her over the top of the taco he was eating.

His teeth bit in, strong and white, but he never took his eyes off her, his intent gaze setting off the kind of heat that made her remember what she’d been thinking in the shower before she heard him leave the room. Suddenly her clothes felt too tight, every movement rubbing cloth across sensitive places, and food was the furthest thing from her mind. Luckily for her, she hadn’t forgotten about Richard.

Cole finished off his taco, dusted his hands together, and got to his feet all in one motion. “I’m going to take a shower.”

And she was going to take a walk so she didn’t have to hear the water running and think about him all wet and naked and muscular.

He didn’t even look at her, still staring at the computer, face flushed, pulse pounding in his neck. “Do you know what this is?” he said, then proceeded to tell her, his voice low and reverent. Seductive. “It’s a Pentalon A1A. State-of-the-art, custom built, largest memory of any notebook computer on the market, and it can handle nearly unlimited simultaneous tasks. And is that one of those mobile broadband modems?”

“Yep, you can access the Internet anywhere, just like a cell phone.”

Cole popped the laptop open with a little catch in his breath, hesitated, then put his finger on the start button, closed his eyes, and pushed it. When it whirred to life, Harmony swore he got a little orgasmic jolt out of it.

He ran his fingertips lightly over the keyboard, crooning low and fast to it under his breath, like he was talking to a lover. If he stroked her the way he was stroking those keys, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.

“You and the computer want to be alone?”

He opened his eyes and grinned at her, not the least embarrassed. In fact, he looked annoyed at being interrupted.

“I can give you some privacy. Just don’t get . . . anything on the keyboard.”

“Jealous?”

“Relieved.” She reached across the table and plucked her panties out of his hand. Then she tore the plastic wrap off the tuna sandwich and scraped the tuna off the bread onto the salad.

“Hey, I was going to eat that.”

“Not anymore,” she said, carrying the salad to the bed closest to the door. “I didn’t get any dinner last night since you decided to leave.”

“Neither did I, and you threw my dessert at a cop.”

“Would you rather I’d shot him? They wouldn’t have given up so easily then.”

“They sicced dogs on us.”

“They would have chased us to hell and back if we’d wounded a police officer.” She took another bite of salad, chewing it for all she was worth. “And stop watching me eat. It makes me self-conscious.”

“That’s not what it makes me.”

“Men get turned on by the stupidest things.”

“There’s pie, but darn, no clean forks. You’ll have to eat it with your fingers.”

Harmony rolled her eyes and ignored the box he held out. “Eat it yourself. You have work to do.”

Cole shrugged and sat at the table, opening the box in his hand. He tore a chunk off the wedge of pie with his fingers and dropped it into his mouth, head back, groaning softly as he licked the filling from his fingertips.

Harmony couldn’t take her eyes off him.

And he noticed. “Men get turned on by the stupidest things, huh?”

She walked over to the table and opened the other pie box. Chocolate cream. She broke off a piece of pie and put it into her mouth, closing her lips around her finger and pulling it out of her mouth one agonizing centimeter at a time, never taking her eyes off him.

“You’re playing with fire,” Cole said.

“You started it.”

“And I’m willing to finish it.”

And if she didn’t know exactly what he meant, her body sure did. If he kept looking at her like that she’d have an orgasm on the spot. But as much as she liked the idea of that, the fallout would be a nightmare.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on your problem as long as I have this”—he dropped his eyes—“huge need,” he finished with just the hint of a smile that was directed at himself, she suspected, as much as her.

Harmony put the pie down and left the table before she could give in to the urge to smile back. They had a long night ahead of them, and it would be a mistake to give him even that much encouragement. She came back with the phone book, dropping it in his lap.

“This is Ohio, not Nevada,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll find what I want in there.”

“Try 1-800-lunatic. Any woman who takes you on after eight years of deprivation has to be crazy.”

“You took me on.”

“This is a professional relationship.”

“I could leave a twenty on the nightstand when we’re done.”

“You don’t have any money.”

He shrugged. “I’ll steal some.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the phone.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of phone sex—1-900 numbers?”

“After nearly a decade in jail that would just be more of the same.”

She came around the table and got right in his face, her mouth a whisper away from his, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “Use your left hand.”

She pushed away, but before she could escape he came to his feet and caught her by the upper arms, his grip just a bit too tight for comfort. “If you ever do that again . . .” He didn’t finish the threat. He didn’t need to, holding her there, against his body. She could feel his hunger, and not just because of his erection. Heat was radiating off him, along with a depth of anger and frustration she could only guess at.

Her heart thumped hard against her ribs, her eyes searching the angles of his face, seeing the darkness in his eyes, remembering what he’d been through and at whose hands. He was a dangerous stew of emotions, and she’d been stupid to stir him up like that.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He let her go and stepped back, pushing both hands through his hair, the anger disappearing as fast as it had come over him. “How sorry?” he quipped with a slight smile. But there were shadows in his eyes, and Harmony was ashamed of herself for helping to put them there.

This time she answered his smile with one of her own. “Not that sorry.”
Yet
.

“Tell me again what you accomplished last night,” Harmony said, and by
again
, she meant for the fourth time.

Cole blew out a breath and humored her. “I wrote a password generator and started running it, but it hasn’t come up with anything yet, which is no surprise. This is the FBI we’re talking about, and their system has a hell of a security component.” He ought to know. “It’s not going to run while the laptop is shut down, but we can stick around here for a while, see if anything interesting happens.”

“No, we need to get moving. Ohio law enforcement doesn’t seem to have us on their radar, and it appears we’ve lost the feds. The Russians are another story. There’s not much chance they dropped us off yesterday and kept driving.”

“I don’t know; you were pretty obnoxious.”

“Trust me, it’ll take more than verbal diarrhea to shake Irene loose, and I don’t want her to know what we’re up to.”

Since he felt the same way about Harmony and his plans, Cole let that comment pass. Besides, he’d done exactly what he’d said. He just hadn’t told her what he was going to do with the password when he got it.

“Smell that air,” Harmony said, taking a deep breath when they stepped outside, eyes closed, savoring the cool morning breeze.

“Smells like car exhaust,” Cole said. He’d been up late putting together the password generator, then he’d tried to sleep. He hadn’t had much luck.

Mentally he was exhausted. Physically he was a mass of straining senses and unsatisfied lust, all because of a wet T-shirt and a piece of pie. Hell, who was he kidding? Just being in the same room with Harmony all night, listening to her breathe, hearing the rustle of the bedclothes as she shifted position, had kept him on edge.

“Look at that sunrise,” she said, all bright and bubbly.

Cole hated bright and bubbly. Why wasn’t she cranky like he was? And he wasn’t just talking about sex- and sleep-deprivation. “Why are you so cheerful? This thing has fiasco written all over it.”

“I prefer to believe we’ll be successful.”

“Right,” Cole muttered, “you’re an optimist.” Another thing he hated. “How can you prepare for the worst if you refuse to acknowledge it’s a possibility?”

“What, did you minor in philosophy or something?”

“I majored in life.”

“Wow. Sounds ominous, but it’s still better than the alternative.”

“Stick around, Pollyanna. Life will beat all the hope out of you—probably in the near future.” Which meant he’d most likely be around to see it. That went a long way toward cheering him up, along with knowing they didn’t have another day of aimless wandering ahead of them. Somewhere in the depths of the sleepless night, he’d remembered he had a possible safe haven in Cleveland, which was probably why he’d thought of it to begin with. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t want to risk bringing trouble down on a friend, but Juan Esposito was more than able to handle a couple of Russian thugs.

“So tell me about this friend of yours,” Harmony said. “Is he a geek?”

“He’s an ex-con.”

“Oh boy. Should I ask what he did?”

“Once you meet him, you won’t have to.”

“Does he at least have a name like Crusher or Mad Dog? I feel kind of cheated being stuck with a convict named Cole.”

“Your choice, remember?”

“Circumstances dictate.”

“Yeah, well, circumstances dictate that you be my girlfriend while we’re there.”

“Pretend to be your girlfriend, you mean.”

“That could work, too.”

She gave him a look, trying to appear annoyed, but still way too chipper to pull it off.

“If they find out you’re a federal agent it won’t be pretty. For either of us.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you will.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Harmony didn’t have a witty comeback for that. Harmony was letting her silence speak for her. Making a point. Cole didn’t expect it to last.

They caught a cab from the motel to the nearest bus station, bought tickets to Detroit, then lost themselves in the early-morning crowd.

They headed into an industrial section of the city, following the directions Cole had gotten off the Internet. The route led him into the parking lot of a huge warehouse, big bay doors open to the brisk air and early-morning sunshine. The place was a beehive of activity, hi-los trundling around with pallets of shrink-wrapped merchandise, truckers backing semis into loading bays, employees bustling about with serious intent. An adjacent lot held vehicles of all shapes and sizes, in all stages of cannibalization.

“This can’t be right,” Cole said to Harmony. He approached a man standing by a chest-high desk cluttered with papers held down by random auto parts. “I’m looking for Juan Esposito.”

“Over there,” the guy said, pointing into the gloomy depths of the warehouse.

Cole shrugged and, taking Harmony by the hand, walked inside. They hadn’t gone two steps before a voiced boomed out, “Doc!” and a bull of a man with gang tattoos on his neck, face, and arms caught Cole in a spine-cracking bear hug.

When he stepped back, Cole pointed to a pair of teardrops, the sign for gang killings, tattooed under Juan’s left eye. “I thought you were going to get rid of those.”

“And lose all my cred?” Juan shook his head and shifted his gaze to Harmony, giving her an appreciative up and down. “Who’s the
chica
?”

“Harmony Swift, Juan Esposito,” Cole said.

Harmony offered her hand. Juan hooked thumbs with her and pulled her in, kissing her on both cheeks. “Your taste in friends is improving,” he said to Cole.

“It has a lot to do with my accommodations.” Cole pulled Harmony back to his side, slipping his arm around her waist. Keeping up the pretense. “You’re married, remember?”

“Married and respectable.” Juan did a
Price Is Right
pose, both arms raised with a little half-spin to showcase the warehouse and its industrious staff. “What do you think?”

“This is all yours?”

Juan nodded, smiling from ear to ear.

“Not exactly low profile.”

“I’m legit now, bro.”

Cole took a long look around, shelves filled with auto parts, from small boxes all the way up to hoods, fenders, and entire car chassis.

“Yeah, wild, eh? When I got out, I went back to my roots, you know? Boosting and stripping cars, but I sold the parts on the Internet, just like you said. Nobody local to finger me for the cops.

“Before I knew it the business got so big it didn’t make sense to keep stealing and risk losing everything, so I started buying parts in bulk. Businesses going under, wholesale, direct from the manufacturers, anywhere I can get ’em cheap, you know? I even have a salvage yard for older models where the parts are hard to get. That’s real lucrative, man. I sell online, and I can’t keep up with the demand.

“So what’s your story? I thought you had at least another dime and a half to go.”

Cole shrugged. “Overcrowding.”

Juan laughed. “Yeah, you never were too much of a threat.”

“I got out not too long ago, spent some time in Philly and hooked up with Harmony. We’re on our way to Seattle, and I remembered you live here, so I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”

“It rains a lot in Seattle, man.”

“It’s also a major computer hub, and I need to get a job.”

“I could put you to work here. My webmaster is useless.” Juan turned to Harmony. “This guy has magic fingers.”

“I know,” she said, sending Cole a sizzling look that left Juan open-mouthed and speechless.

Cole inadvertently tightened his arm around her waist, and she shot him another look with a different kind of smolder. Chances were good the second look was more in line with her true feelings.

“You were telling me about Cole,” she said, all smiles for Juan’s sake. “Start with the nickname.”

“Doctor Who,” Juan said, punching Cole lightly on the arm and grinning. “Most of us just call him Doc. His protector gave it to him.”

“Protector?”

“Louie F.”

“Louis Frambelli, of the New York mob family?”

Cole tightened his arm again, this time in warning.

“I grew up just outside New York City,” Harmony lied without blinking an eye. “I went to school with Louie F.’s grandkids. He was a pretty big crime boss, right?”

“Outside,” Juan said. “Inside he was still a pretty big boss, but he wasn’t a bad guy where it counts, you know? And he knew what was going down in Lewisburg before the warden did. Day Hackett arrived, Louie was right there. Said Cole looked like an owl, all wide eyes, blinking at everything like he had a million questions and didn’t know which one to ask first.”

“The wide eyes didn’t last long,” Cole said.

“But the nickname stuck, right Doc?”

“And thanks to Louie F.,” Cole said, “I’m still in one piece. Louie said he took one look at me and knew I wouldn’t last twenty-five days let alone twenty-five years, and there were only two ways for me to leave the place, dead or broken.”

“You’re neither,” Harmony said.

“Because he knew I’d be useful.”

“First thing Louie did was have me pick a fight with your boy, here,” Juan said. “Gave the guards a reason to toss him into solitary.”

“It doesn’t sound like help,” Cole put in, “but there was a bed, a toilet, and a weight set, compliments of Louie F. I spent sixty days alone putting on muscle and making a mental adjustment. I was looking at twenty-five years in that place, and it was up to me how I served my time. When I came out of solitary, I agreed to work for Louie, and he agreed to watch my back. But he couldn’t guarantee around-the-clock protection.”

Cole met Harmony’s eyes for the first time since they’d begun rehashing the nightmare. “Louie told me the first fight would send a message. If I didn’t fight hard and fight dirty, I’d be a target no matter what he did.”

“First guy cornered Doc here never walked right again,” Juan said.

Cole bumped up a shoulder. “I kept up the workouts, had a couple more altercations, but after a while I stopped being a target. There were always newcomers.” He looked out the door, trying not to remember the screams, the times he’d heard sobbing from some new inmate’s jail cell, the haunted looks in the eyes of some poor bastard who would have been him if he hadn’t possessed skills Louie F. could use. He’d tried to help when he could, but Louie was right, you couldn’t be everywhere. After a while you had to turn a blind eye, put on blinkers, keep the anger from spilling over onto the guards who did nothing to protect the weak. All that would get him was trouble.

He traded a look with Juan and knew he was thinking the same thing.

“The tat,” Juan said, bringing a reluctant grin from Cole and the predictably inquisitive look from Harmony. “Wasn’t long before Hackett’s attitude went from
What the hell am I doing here
to
Who can I punch out?
”

“Which is why the owl has a bad attitude,” Harmony concluded. “So where does the ‘doctor’ part come from?”

“Jailhouse award,” Cole said. “I was working on my thesis when I was arrested. The FBI took that away from me, too.”

Harmony kept her eyes on his, and there was sympathy there. Cole didn’t want to see it. He moved his arm and was already walking away from her when he said to Juan, “Give me the tour.”

“Not much to see besides auto parts,” Juan said, “but wait till you get a load of the hacienda.”

The hacienda was more like the Kennedy compound at Hyannis Port, except it was a few blocks from the shores of Lake Erie and there were no overbites in sight. Lots of light brown skin, warm brown eyes, and dark curly hair, since the hacienda was busting at the seams with Juan’s Hispanic family members.

The place consisted of a huge, rambling old house that had probably been built for some famous Ohio personage a century or so ago. There were a couple smaller houses off to one side of the property, newer construction, and a building that looked like it had once been a barn or carriage house, but had been converted to a guesthouse. Juan had insisted they stay with him, and Cole, without consulting her, had agreed. Since they were supposed to be a couple, she had no choice but to go along.

Besides, she had something she needed to do, something she’d put off as long as she could.

She took out her government cell phone and speed-dialed a number she’d programmed in. The phone was traceable, but since she wasn’t undercover, it would also come up on caller ID. That was a requirement.

“Agent Swift,” the person who answered the phone said with a Russian accent. “I expected your call yesterday.”

“I couldn’t because—” Anything else she might have said was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream that trailed off into muffled sobbing.

In the back of her mind there’d always been the possibility of turning back. She scrapped that notion right there and then.