Undaunted (10 page)

“Please, go ahead. I’m not hurt. Oh. Wait! My car . . .”

“I can take Ms. DeAngelo into town,” Ramsey offered. “That is, if it’s okay with you,” he added, looking not at her face but instead at their hands, still tightly linked. Her fingers trembled in his grasp.

He trusted his hunches. She was his primary suspect. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for her. He certainly didn’t need this attraction. Ramsey loosened his grip on her fingers and stuck both hands in his back pockets.

“You sure you don’t mind givin’ the lady a ride?” Bill gathered his equipment as he talked. “The chief’s called a tow truck. The county crew’s on their way to clear the tree out of the road. Thanks, Ramsey. Glad you’re okay, ma’am,” he added, tipping his cap and climbing into the ambulance.

The siren wailed, the lights flashed and the engine howled as the ambulance sped into the night.

Rose appeared stunned by the abrupt departure. She turned in Ramsey’s direction, her eyes wide and frightened, and wrapped both arms around herself in a protective gesture.

Ramsey glimpsed a distant flash of lightning reflected in her deep green eyes and wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

And don’t miss the follow-up novel,

Lethal Obsession

Prologue

Satisfaction, a sense of completion . . . satiation tempered with desire, so much like the aftermath of orgasm. It should not have been so easy . . . he fought the urge to laugh aloud, recalling his gut-clenching fear, his trembling fingers as he’d grasped the steering wheel, yanked hard and veered the car tightly to cut the other motorist off at precisely the right moment.

Precision counted. Precision and planning. He’d relish that moment forever, the shocked expression in his victim’s eyes, the brief flash of recognition, the terror of impending, unalterable death.

If only he’d known . . . he’d never once imagined the gratification, the power, the unbelievable sense of control.

His first kill.

Now this pleasure . . . watching from the shadows, relishing the aftereffects of his deed, visualizing the next steps in this most thrilling game of cat and mouse.

Kat and mouse? No . . . he was the cat . . . feral, a killer. A killer who had tasted first blood.

He’d toyed with his prey long enough.

Smiling in anticipation, gliding silently through the grove of ancient olive trees, he disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter 1

A breeze. Finally a faint breath of air, barely enough to lift away the cloying scent of incense and flowers, but sufficient to stave off the persistent nausea for another moment. Kat Malone leaned against the rough trunk of a twisted olive tree, doing her best to remain at least partially hidden in the shadows of the small grove. She watched silently as, inch by inch, the simple oak casket disappeared into the freshly dug grave, all the while wondering if there wasn’t some way to speed up the process short of goosing the pallbearers. She’d managed to get through the interminably long High Mass and the equally lengthy graveside service, but she knew she couldn’t last much longer.

Her skin felt clammy and her stomach churned. The old tree offered welcome support, but if she didn’t find a place to sit down soon she’d probably pass out right here in the cemetery. Of course, at this point it probably wouldn’t make any difference.

She closed her eyes, swayed slightly, swallowed past the foul lump in her throat.

Fingers clamped about her arm, vise-like, startling her, but steadying her as well. She looked up, up into the icy green eyes of Riley O’Rourke.

The man who’d just been buried.

No. Riley’s eyes are blue . . . they’ve always been blue . . .

She fainted.

* * *

Her world gradually expanded from dark to light, opening like the aperture of an old camera. Her initial fear subsided, giving way to confusion. Riley held her firmly in his arms, his brisk steps carrying her back into the olive grove, out of sight of the other mourners.

No! This wasn’t Riley. It couldn’t be. Riley was dead, buried moments ago. Riley of the sparkling blue eyes.

I saw them bury you, dammit!
She thought of breaking free of the man’s steady grip, but lethargy held her arms and legs immobile. Instead, she absorbed what information she could about him.
Know your enemy.
One of the first rules she’d learned. An important lesson, it had saved her life more than once.

A stray thought intruded—why did she immediately think of him as the enemy?

Bemused and disoriented, Kat studied her captor. This stranger, this image of the gentle man she’d loved, was subtly different from the easygoing FBI agent. It was more than the eyes . . . much more. If possible, his hair was even darker, a little bit longer, his demeanor more intense, his scent . . . she took a deep breath, inhaling an intoxicating blend of expensive aftershave and man that made her want to shut her eyes and inhale all over again.

Geesh, Malone. Get a grip!
She jerked fully awake and struggled enough that he loosed the arm under her knees until her feet touched the ground. He steadied her with one hand while his other arm lightly supported her at the waist.

She inched away, out of his reach. Confusion sharpened by a brief stab of pain followed her.
Riley’s dead. He’s dead. He’s . . .

“You’re not going to keel over again, are you, ma’am?”

Kat shook her head in quick denial. She keyed on his voice. It was different, definitely not Riley’s. Deeper . . . softer. Almost threatening.

Kat Malone never backed away from a threat. Suddenly feeling as if she were back in familiar territory, she raised her chin and brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I wouldn’t have keeled over the first time if you hadn’t scared the crap out of me. I thought you were Riley.”

“My brother’s dead.”

“I’m well aware of that fact.” Kat stared at him a moment, quickly assimilating the almost imperceptible differences between this man and the man she’d loved. So, this was Riley’s brother. The one she’d learned about in the obit.

One more thing he’d neglected to tell her.

She sighed, closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’ve spent the morning watching his grieving widow and loving family and friends bury him.”

“From the tone of your voice, I assume you’re not a close friend of the family.” He cocked his head and looked down at her as if she were some sort of bug on the ground.

She studied him a moment before answering, noting the impeccable fit of his black suit, the crisp white collar and cuffs, the perfectly knotted tie. Definitely not Riley. The resemblance was uncanny, but Riley couldn’t have acted this arrogant if his life depended on it.

“Until I read his obituary,” she said, watching for his reaction, “I didn’t even know there was a family. At least, to be specific, a wife.”

“Ah. This is beginning to make sense.”

“Are there children, too?” she asked, swallowing the bile that wouldn’t stay down. She’d really make this guy’s day if she puked all over his shiny black shoes.

“Riley and Clarisse were unable to have children.”

“I see.” Kat swallowed again. “Well, it certainly wasn’t Riley’s fault.”

“What do you mean?”

Even the way he tilted his head as he waited for her answer reminded Kat of Riley, reminded her of the sweetness of the man, the humor . . . the duplicity. Kat blinked herself back to the present. “I mean, Mr. O’Rourke, that I loved your brother. I’ve loved him since the day I met him during an investigation we both worked on well over a year ago. I thought he loved me, too. I changed jobs and transferred out here from Pennsylvania because he asked me to. We talked about marriage, about settling down and raising a family, all the things couples in love generally discuss. Only he neglected to tell me he was already married. In fact, he never said a word about the wife. Who, by the way, must be the one with the fertility problems, because it certainly wasn’t Riley.”

He stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a third eye, then lowered his gaze to her flat stomach. “Why would you say something like that?”

“I say that, Mr. O’Rourke, because I’m pregnant with Riley’s child.”

His reaction stunned her.

“You lying little . . . ! How dare you . . .” He clenched his fists as if he might take a swing.

Kat stood her ground. She’d stared down larger, angrier men than this, though she didn’t have a clue why he was so upset. It wasn’t like she was accusing him of fatherhood. “Put a sock in it, O’Rourke. I have no reason to lie. Your brother and I had an affair and I got pregnant. It happens all the time. I just didn’t expect it to happen to me.”

“Not to my brother, it doesn’t. Just what kind of scam are you trying to pull?”

Scam? Kathleen stared intently at the man glaring back at her. What in the hell was this jerk’s problem? She swallowed and took a deep breath to give herself time to think of a fitting answer. She blinked and swallowed again.

Then the need for a snappy comeback disappeared entirely. Kat leaned over and puked all over Mr. O’Rourke’s fancy black shoes.

* * *

Kat wasn’t certain if it was humiliation or shock that kept her quiet when Riley’s brother pulled his Jaguar up in front of her little bungalow just as the fire truck was leaving. She didn’t say a word when Mr. O’Rourke opened the car door for her and helped her out of the low-slung Jag. She even managed to accept, with what she considered remarkable aplomb, the presence of three squad cars and a phalanx of uniformed police officers hovering about her front door.

Then her landlord barred her way at the bottom step and refused to let her pass. Kat saw red.

“Bug off, Morton. You’d better get out of . . .” She lunged at the little weasel.

O’Rourke grabbed her elbow and stopped Kat dead in her tracks. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, looking down on Mr. Morton even though the landlord stood a step above. Kat tried to jerk her arm free.

O’Rourke’s grip tightened, firm but not bruising.

She glared at him.

He ignored her.

“I told you the last time this happened I wanted you out of here, lady. This time you pack your bags and get.” Morton pointedly avoided eye contact with O’Rourke. He scowled at Kathleen. She noticed a tiny fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and wished her stomach hadn’t chosen this moment to finally settle down.

She’d really love to puke on his shoes.

“The last time?” O’Rourke’s gesture encompassed the squad cars as well as the smoke still drifting out of the side window of the little house. His grip on Kat’s elbow tightened. He tilted his chin and looked down his rather patrician nose at her. “This isn’t the first time for what?”

The patronizing look on his face fired Kat’s adrenaline into overdrive. Damn, the man was infuriating! Just who did he think he was, talking to her like that? He might be Riley’s brother but the two obviously had nothing in common. His disparaging attitude gave her the strength to yank her elbow out of his grasp. She flashed him one of her famous “if looks could kill” stares.

He didn’t flinch.

In a brief flash of insight, she realized she really did owe him an explanation. He had, after all, come to her rescue this morning, whether she’d needed it or not. Kat took a deep breath, turned her back on her sputtering landlord and gestured toward the police captain coming their way.

“Follow me.” She brushed past O’Rourke and reached out to shake hands with the officer. “Hey, Sandy.” She grabbed his outstretched hand. “I take it my stalker’s back?”

“I’m sorry, Kat. We had the place staked out and everything. He must’ve gotten in during the shift change. Torched the place this time. Really trashed things.”

The landlord shoved himself in front of Kathleen again. “I repeat, Ms. Malone, I want you out of here. Today. Don’t plan on getting your deposit back.”

“Stuff it, Morton. You owe me twice that deposit for all the times I’ve caught you peeking through the blinds. I don’t give freebies. Now out of my way.” Kathleen was aware of O’Rourke standing off to one side quietly taking in all the commotion. She turned her back on the landlord and tried to push the image of the tall, raven-haired Irishman out of her mind as well.

Damn, he looked so much like Riley it gave her the creeps. But there was none of Riley’s easygoing style, none of the loose-limbed awkwardness or easy manner she’d found so endearing.

A wave of nausea swept through her.
Look where endearing got you this time, sweetheart.
Well, she’d never been known for her intelligent decisions regarding men.

“You probably ought to come in and take a look, let us know if he took anything,” Sandy was saying. “Be prepared, though. It’s bad. Really bad.” Still muttering about the damage, he turned and led the way to the front door.