Trick Me, Treat Me (14 page)

She gave him no directions and he asked for none, seeming to know instinctively where he was going. They drove briefly on the streets of Derryville, then on the interstate, going much faster than the law allowed. She moaned softly, watching the speedometer climb. Her anticipation climbed with it. Finally, after several minutes, she was unable to stand it anymore. She reached across and dropped her hand on to his leg. “I’ve got to touch you.”

He flinched as if burned, obviously every bit as aroused as she, hanging on by a thin thread of control. “We’re getting the hell off this highway,” he bit out.

He flicked the turn signal and got off at the next exit, making no sound of protest as she deftly unzipped his jeans. A tiny groan was his only response when she slipped her hand into his pants to trace the outline of his erection through his briefs. He was hard and thick against her fingers, and as she stroked him, she couldn’t contain a sigh of anticipation.

Once they were off the highway, on a small country road, Gwen could no longer resist. She’d been wanting to taste him since the night before when he’d come into her bed.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

Bending down, she ignored his start of surprise. Not giving him a chance to refuse, she pushed his briefs out of the way, pausing for one second to appreciate the masculine beauty of his sex. Then she put her mouth over him and sucked deeply.

“Gwen!”

The car swayed a little, and slowed to a crawl, but she barely noticed. She continued tasting him, swirling her tongue over the tip of his erection, licking away the moisture as she stroked the length of him with her hand.

“Enough,” he exclaimed and the car came to a stop. He pulled her up, catching her surprised, open mouth in a deep, wet kiss.

When they broke apart, he muttered, “Come on.” He fumbled for the door handle. Before Gwen even had a chance to ask where on earth they were, he pulled her out of the car. She looked around, realizing they were parked in the woods, on a gravel road. She recognized some picnic tables and a playground and knew they’d somehow ended up at some state park. A nearby sign said it was closed for the season.
Perfect.

She sensed he wanted to get out of the car for the same
reason she did. The intensity that had been building between them from the start of their ride screamed to be let loose under a million stars and a velvety night sky. Not inside the cramped confines of the car.

He took her mouth again, his kiss ravenous. Their tongues tangled and tasted, gave and took. She barely noticed his hands unfastening her pants. But when she did, she helped him, kicking her sneakers off so she could push the slacks all the way off her body. The night air was cold, but the blood pounding through her veins was at the boiling point. So hot, so primed, she didn’t notice the outside temperature.

He watched, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. His own pants were undone, his erection thick and ready, still glistening from the moisture of her mouth. She remembered the way he’d tasted, his smell, the intimacy of what she’d done, and knew she wanted to reenact that particular fantasy another time. If she ever could.

Their stares held as he pulled a condom from his pocket and sheathed himself. Then, before she uttered a word, he picked her up, backing her against a huge old tree. Still protected by his leather jacket, she didn’t even feel the rough bark. She could only feel
him.
His warmth. His touch. The almost physical power of his hunger for her.

All her senses were on overload, from the sound of the wind whipping through the mostly bare trees, to the smell of his cologne, to the taste of him that lingered on her tongue. And oh, lordy, the sight of him, that desperate want he couldn’t hide, nearly made the strength leave her limbs.

“Hurry, please,” she said, desperate to feel him inside her.

She had time to wrap her arms around his neck and tilt to
rub against his erection, wordlessly showing him how wet, how
ready
, she was. Groaning, he grabbed her thigh, hooked it over his hip and drove up into her in one deep, powerful thrust.

All Gwen could do was hold on tight and cry out to the sky as he lifted her other leg and drove into her, deeper, again and again. She’d never felt so frantic, so frenzied, so filled.

“I’m never going to let you go, you know that, don’t you?” he said with a groan as they both climbed higher and faster toward that ultimate peak.

Oh, God, how she wished that were true. And for right now, with his hoarse breaths in her ear, his strong arms enfolding her and that thick, hot part of him buried inside her body, she almost believed it was.

H
E WOKE UP
the next morning with a startled groan, having been jarred from his sleep by a strange, disturbing dream. Gwen had been reaching out for him, trying to catch his hand while she clung to the ladder outside the third-floor window. He’d tried to grab her, to keep her close and make sure she was safe. But her fingers had turned to mist and slipped through his grasp.

Maybe the bad dream hadn’t been such a surprise. He certainly hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. They’d stayed at the closed park, curled in each other’s arms inside the car, talking for hours while the night grew old and the stars more brilliant.

She’d told him about her parents and her childhood. Since he’d been unable to reciprocate, he’d responded by making up outrageous tales of his childhood. She’d joined in and together they’d fabricated an entire history for him. From his birth to a poor but proud farmer in eastern Eu
rope, to his daring defection to the U.S. as a teenager, they’d constructed a background fit for a superspy.

He smiled, remembering the sound of her whisper, her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy.

So unlike the Gwen he’d just been dreaming about.

He reached toward the other side of the bed to ensure she was there, safe and sound, but realized she was gone. “Gwen?” he called, just as he heard the click of the bedroom door.

Though he was naked, he didn’t hesitate. He jumped up and rushed to the door, yanking it open to try to catch her before she went downstairs. He wanted to see her with his own eyes, to make sure that disturbing vision of Gwen falling away from him was replaced by the brightness of her good-morning smile.

Someone was standing right outside the door. But it wasn’t his blond-haired lover. The man stared at him, noted his lack of clothes and grinned. “That’s one way to start the day, running around naked in a public place.”

“Shut up, Mick,” he snapped. “I have to find Gwen.”

Then he stopped. Realized what he’d said. And to whom he’d said it. Frozen in the doorway, he blinked twice as he stared at the familiar face of his cousin. The truth rushed into his brain. Somehow, while he’d slept, while he’d dreamed, everything had returned to the proper place in his mind.

Jared had regained his memory.

“Y
OU BASTARD
.”

Jared ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he stared at his rotten, grinning cousin. As soon as Mick had realized Jared had recognized him, he’d pushed him back into his room and shut the door behind them. Jared had taken two seconds to pull on his briefs, then had ordered his cousin to start talking.

Mick had talked all right. When he was done, Jared again muttered, “You rotten bastard.”

“You keep calling me that,” Mick said with a tsk, “and I’ll tell my mama you’re casting dispersions on her character.”

Jared glared. “She’d call you that herself if she found out. I can’t believe you knew all along and you said nothing.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You let me run around like a nutjob investigating some poor SOB—who’s probably a traveling salesman—because I thought he was an international arms dealer.”

“No harm done,” Mick said, not losing his grin.

“No harm done! I could have been killed.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I was hanging off a third-floor window ledge yesterday afternoon.”

Mick had the decency to look concerned. “You’re afraid of heights, Jared.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Had any loving member of my family
been around to remind me of that fact, I wouldn’t have tried climbing up that tree outside my window, risking my neck in the process.”

Mick snickered and looked out the window. “Lemme guess…you, uh, climbed up the tree to spy on the guy upstairs?”

“Yeah. The one who probably has a trunkful of vacuum cleaners, not weapons.”

“You were supposed to wait and meet me in the gardener’s shed at noon. I planned to send Gwen out there, too, and lock you in or something.” Mick smiled in reminiscence. “Got sidetracked.”

“The old gardener’s shed is gone,” Jared snapped.

“Just as well I got sidetracked then.”

He still couldn’t believe what Mick had just admitted. His cousin had been here since Halloween night, had seen him in the kitchen after he’d been hurt. He’d known all along who he was. And he’d stood by and let Jared be convinced he was a frigging secret agent. A frigging secret agent with a stupid-ass name.

Unbelievable. Even for Mick.

“Dr. Wilson swore you’d be fine,” Mick said. “Besides, I swear, bro, when I first saw you, I thought it was a joke. I was playing along. I thought you were paying me back for something.”

“God knows I’d have enough reason,” Jared muttered. “When exactly did you figure out it wasn’t a joke?”

Mick shrugged and leaned against the windowsill, his hands in his pockets. “Pretty quickly.” When Jared frowned, he quickly continued. “I mean, I suspected pretty quickly—when I found that Halloween invitation in your car. And when Anne—Dr. Wilson—confirmed you’d had a
blow to the head. But I wasn’t sure. There was always the possibility you were playing me.”

“The invitation…what happened to the murder party?”

“Why did you think the party was this weekend? I sent that invitation a year ago. You missed a great time—
last
Halloween.”

Jared muttered a curse. One more reason to find a better way of handling his mail when he traveled. “I just got it when I came home from Russia on Wednesday. I had no idea it was from last year.” When Mick visibly relaxed, as though he thought he was off the hook, Jared pointed his index finger at him. “That doesn’t excuse what you did. Jesus, Mick, anything could have happened!”

Mick sat on the end of the bed. “Yeah. You could’ve had fun for a change. Could’ve let yourself be the Jared I once knew, instead of the brooding, reserved one you’ve become.” Mick glanced at the rumpled covers, then at the white satin bathrobe lying at the foot of it. He crossed his arms and gave Jared a half smile. “Gee, you could’ve even gone crazy over a blond-haired innkeeper.”

“Bite me.”

“I’m sure
she
already has.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “And leave her out of this.”

Jared leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees, and rested his forehead in his palm. Gwen. How on earth was he ever going to explain this to her? After everything they’d done, all they’d shared, he was now supposed to tell her he wasn’t the mysterious, exciting man she’d come to know?

“You okay?” Mick asked quietly.

“How am I going to explain this to her?” He looked up. “You know she’s going to feel like a fool. And you certainly
didn’t help, setting yourself up as some local CIA informant.”

Mick corrected him. “The
Shop
. I can’t believe that didn’t tip you off, considering how much you used to read Stephen King.”

“It did sound familiar,” Jared admitted. “Just not for the right reason. Why did you have to bring Gwen into it?”

“She needed an adventure. Needed it almost as much as you did.” Mick shrugged. “I don’t think you should tell her yet.”

“Oh, there’s a solution. Let her keep running around thinking she’s got a dangerous criminal in her home.” He snorted. “I guess that makes about as much sense as anything else you’ve ever said.”

“Admit it. You’re already really crazy about her.”

Jared couldn’t deny it and didn’t even try.

“Then seriously, man, don’t tell her.” Before Jared could reply, Mick held up his hand. “Hear me out. I’ve known Gwen longer than you. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. She’s loving this. Why not let her enjoy it a little longer? Long enough that when she finds out the truth, she, uh…”

“She what?”

Mick glanced away. “She won’t walk away, thinking you’re just a typical, run-of-the-mill slob like the rest of us.”

Jared smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

“Look, she likes Special Agent Miles Stone. Give her the fantasy a while longer. Later, when she cares more, it won’t matter that you’re really just a boring writer.”

Just a boring writer. This from the guy who’d once made his living selling double-wides out at the trailer park by the interstate. “Excuse me if I’m not bowing at your feet as you dispense your great wisdom when it comes to women. If
I’m not mistaken, aren’t you the guy who had to hide out in my dorm room for a week during college because
three
girls you were dating found out about each other and came after you?
Armed?
”

“College days. I never have to hide from women now.”

“They’re probably hiding from you,” Jared muttered.

“Gwen always has.”

That made him pause. He gave his cousin an inquiring look.

“I made a move or two.” When Jared’s frown deepened, his cousin continued. “Never got anywhere.
Nobody
who’s tried ever got a smile half as bright as the one she’s been wearing since yesterday.” Before Jared could respond, Mick added, “Yours has been absent lately, too, by the way. Until this weekend. So maybe you shouldn’t screw this up by coming clean…at least not yet.”

No way. There was no way in hell he could continue this charade. Jared hated dishonesty. Truly loathed it. Interacting with criminals both in the FBI and in his writing had given him a hearty distaste for all liars. Damned if he’d allow himself to become one. He’d tell Gwen the truth as soon as he saw her.

“Jared, look,” Mick continued, obviously seeing by his expression what he intended to do. “Gwen wants the excitement of Miles Stone. She wants to walk on the wild side, live on the edge. Sure, you’re a hell of a guy, but if she finds out you’re some reclusive book nut who’s fascinated by blood spatter and entry wounds, the interest might fade away pretty fast.”

He didn’t even want to listen to his cousin, didn’t want to consider that he might be right. He and Gwen had shared too much in their short acquaintance for it to be about nothing but thrills. She’d known the real man, even before he’d
remembered who that man was. Finding out he had a different job wasn’t going to drive the woman away. He was sure of it.

Standing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I need a shower. And I need some other clothes. Get my suitcase out of my trunk, will you? The keys are in the visor.” He winced, realizing he had, indeed, taken his own damn car on a joyride the night before.

“No problem.” Mick was obviously eager to make up for being such a louse. “I have your wallet in my room. I’ll bring it, too.” He grinned. “Want me to bring my special shoe phone so you can check in with the Chief and Agent 99 back at headquarters?”

“Screw you and the horse you rode in on, pal,” Jared said as he ushered his cousin out the door into the hall.

Mick walked away, but before Jared could shut the door behind him, he noticed Gwen’s aunt standing across the hall. She looked curious, obviously having overheard Jared and Mick.

She gave Jared a visual inspection, then winked in appreciation. “You’re looking better, Mr. Secret Agent.” The old woman’s stare grew knowing. Before he could say a word, she continued. “You have your memory back, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Feeling pretty silly right about now, I’d presume.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Mr. Winchester, if I’d been running around thinking I was a spy, climbing up buildings, breaking into rooms and stumbling into the beds of innocent innkeepers by mistake, I’d probably be rather embarrassed.”

He froze, completely stunned. Here was another person in this crazy house who knew who he was and yet let him make a total fool of himself? Even worse, she knew a lot
about what had been going on. “How long have you known?”

“Didn’t recognize you at first. Then yesterday, Moe told me he thought you looked like the fella on the back of one of the books Sam lent me. Pulled it out, there you were.”

“Sam?”

“Your grandpa. He and I, well, we keep company.”

His
grandfather?
And
Hildy?
“You…keep company?”

She winked and gave a little cackle. “We get together once or twice a week for a can of soup and some slap and tickle.”

Yikes. He scrunched his eyes shut and pictured crime scene photos, trying to kill the visual image her words inspired. Then he thought about what else she’d said. “Grandfather gave you one of my books? I didn’t think he acknowledged I’d written them.”

She blew out an impatient puff of air. “Silly man. He’s proud as a peacock of you. Just too stubborn to admit it.” She turned to walk away. “I have to go up to the attic for something.” Before she left, she gave Jared a speculative look. “Moe tells me you and Gwen had fun up there yesterday. And he said the two of you forgot something.” She crinkled her brow. “Something silky and blue. Wonder what that could be.” Appearing unconcerned, Hildy gave him a little wave, then walked away.

Jared remembered Gwen’s torn underwear less than ten seconds later. Groaning, he yanked on his jeans and shirt and hurried after Hildy, hoping her eyesight wasn’t as sharp as her wit.

One good thing—at least this time he’d be going into the attic via stairs and a door, not a tree and a closet.

M
ILES HAD BEEN MISSING
for hours, and Gwen was growing desperate. “Where are you?” she whispered as she stood in
his room, having come back here after searching the house yet again.

She’d come up to bring him breakfast at nine and found his room empty. His clothes had disappeared, but his shoes were still on the floor and the bed was a rumpled mess.

This didn’t look good.

“Somebody’s got him.” The suspect must have figured out who Miles was and taken him somewhere. Probably at gunpoint.

She had to
do
something. She would have gone to Mick for help, but she’d seen him leave with Dr. Wilson an hour ago and they hadn’t returned. So it was up to her.

Taking a deep breath, she quietly made her way upstairs to the third floor. The elderly counterfeiters had checked out this morning, paying with a credit card that had been approved, thank goodness. Gwen passed the open door to that room and made her way to Capone’s Hideaway, the suite where the arms dealer was staying. She listened outside the room for a minute, then knocked lightly. No answer. Praying the man wasn’t wide-awake, just ignoring the knock, she opened the door and entered the room.

“Damn.” It was empty. She didn’t know whether to be relieved she hadn’t come face-to-face with the suspect, or disappointed that she couldn’t order him to take her to Miles.

Hoping she might find a clue to Agent Stone’s whereabouts, she decided to conduct a quick search. She hadn’t gotten past the dresser when she heard someone enter.

“What is the meaning of this?” someone asked in a foreign-sounding accent.

Busted! She twirled around, eyes wide, knowing she was no match for this older guy, whether he was armed or not.
He had at least fifty pounds on her, and stood between Gwen and the exit.

Stupid
. She should have thought to bring Miles’s tiny silver gun, or at least have checked to see if it was still in his jacket pocket. But no, she’d been the blond bimbo in the horror flick going up the stairs toward the danger in the attic. Gwen had never been more disgusted with herself.

She thought fast, quickly arriving at a possible way out. She had one shot at this, one chance at both getting away from this guy and finding out where he’d stashed Miles.

“I’m Miss Jones,” she whispered. Well, that sounded pretty pathetic. She took another deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “I’ve been waiting for my chance to meet with you.”

Tossing his hat on to the bed, the elderly gentleman tilted his head in confusion. “I thought your name was Miss Compton.”

Clearing her throat for courage, Gwen stepped closer. “That’s what everyone thinks. But I’m really…um, you know, Miss Jones.” Reaching her hand up as if to toy with her necklace, Gwen quickly gave herself a sharp pinch above her collarbone. She bit back a wince, then tugged her sweater to the side to show him the reddened spot, hoping he’d mistake it for a birthmark. “See?”

“Are you quite all right, Miss Jones?” He stared at her as if she had two heads. “Is there someone I could call for you?”