LITMIR.BIZ

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she whispered and crept to the French doors for a look before returning to him. “Nobody’s here.”

      He stood by the column, his hands braced on each side. His shoulders were wide enough so the camera would see those. As long as he stayed that way, anyone watching on the security monitor would think he had her in front of him, pinned.

      “I’ll be right back.” She crossed the balcony again and went in low, finding herself in what looked to be a spare bedroom for the mansion.

      She gave it a quick check and took a few pictures with her camera ring before moving on. She poked her head out the door. If someone saw her, she could pretend she had snuck into the mansion to seek out Cavanaugh. With Cavanaugh’s interest in a wide variety of women, her presence wouldn’t require any further explanation for his staff.

      But the hallway was empty. She stepped outside.

      There were motion sensors in the corner of the ceiling, but they had figured the system wouldn’t be turned on until the fun for the day ended and the guests were settled into their bungalows for the night. Since the room she’d breached was at the end of the hallway, she had only one way to go: forward. Two doors stood on her right, one on her left. She cracked each as she passed by. One was a home gym, one a bathroom, another a cleaning closet.

      The hallway came out to an open area with cathedral ceilings and a view to a sprawling living room below that she remembered from her earlier visit. She stayed near the wall so she wouldn’t be seen if someone walked in downstairs.

      She put her hand on the next door and tried to push it open. She couldn’t. This is it. The place wouldn’t be locked if Cavanaugh wasn’t hiding something here. She pulled out the micro tool kit that had been hidden in the ostentatious, shell-covered barrette in her hair.

      The door had two locks, one built into the doorknob and one at about eye level. Trickier than what she had been used to when she had lived on the streets and had, at times, been forced to break the law for food. Or while in foster care, when she’d had to break out of the various rooms, basements, attics and toolsheds she’d been locked inside. The fancy tool kit felt foreign, too, although she had been practicing.

      She was fairly certain she’d gotten the top lock open, but she wasn’t getting anywhere with the one on the bottom. Something was clicking. She had to be on the right track. Then it hit her. Both pegs had to be turned at the same time.

      And then she was in, careful to open the door only a few inches should there be motion sensors inside. She put her eye to the crack.

      The room was windowless, pitch-dark other than the light filtering through the small opening of the door. She could make out a desk with a computer, filing cabinets against the walls, a couple of fax machines and a giant shredder. A red laser light cut through the darkness less than an inch from the door’s edge.

      She could see only half the room like this, but to open the door enough to stick her head inside would set off the alarm. It was a miracle she hadn’t set if off already.

      She took a small step back just as the sound of feet drumming on stairs hit her ears.

      Chapter Three

      Even with her heart doing backflips in her throat, she had enough presence of mind to lock the door behind her exactly as she had found it. Then she took off down the hallway. She didn’t make it to the end room.

      As Sam turned back, she could see the tops of the heads of the men who were coming up. The cleaning closet seemed her only option. She practically hurled herself inside.

      The space was dark and tight, smelling like bleach and citrus-scented cleaning solution. She stayed still, not daring to make any noise. The door didn’t block much. She could hear everything the two men were saying.

      “Saw the blonde? Man, she’s stacked. Wouldn’t mind if she tripped and fell on top of me.”

      “What’s stopping you from tripping and falling on top of her?” The other one laughed.

      “Her husband is here.”

      “I bet Philippe had her already.”

      “So what?” The first guy sounded annoyed. “He’s the boss. He always gets what he wants.”

      Dissent in the ranks? She stored the information for later. They never knew what could come in handy down the road.

      A door opened and closed, then she could no longer hear the men. How long should she wait? Would they stay wherever they’d gone, or would they be coming back in a few seconds? She was prepared to act like an Oscar winner if she was caught, but it would have been much better for her and the mission if she made her way out of the mansion unseen.

      Sam emerged from her hiding place with caution. The hallway was empty. She made her way to the back bedroom as fast as she could.

      She pushed the door open and whispered, “Philippe,” to play out her role of hussy-in-search-of-illicit-pleasure, but nobody was in there. Looked like the men had gone to the gym. She let out the breath she’d been holding, then she was through the room and out on the balcony, lowering herself into Reese’s waiting arms.

      “Everything okay?” He didn’t look pleased at having had to stay behind.

      “Found his office. I’ll have to get back in there again.”

      “He’s right. Enough is enough.” A stranger’s voice came from around the corner. The next second, one of Philippe’s men, Roberto, rounded the building, talking on his cell.

      She pressed against Reese and lifted her mouth to his, keeping her eyes open only enough to see the guy slow in her peripheral vision.

      Reese didn’t miss a beat. He let his lips linger. She was getting familiar with the feel of them, not exactly at ease but not scared stiff, either. He got hold of her hand and moved forward, pulling her behind him. They went only as far as the nearest hammock, where he fell back into the comfort of the ropes and pulled her on top of him.

      Oh.

      She held on as they swayed, feeling awkward, the urge to flee coming on.

      He must have felt her body stiffen because he went completely still. “So this stepfather of yours, he’s still alive?” he whispered, his voice low and tight.

      What did it matter? “No.” Her lawyer had told her that. Since she’d been underage at the time of her arrest, the court had attempted to reach her mother and the man she was still married to on paper. Her stepfather was gone. Her mother couldn’t bother to come to her arraignment or her trial, even though a parent who pledged to resume supervision could have eased her sentence.

      A few silent moments passed, then he ran a calming hand down the back of her arm, adjusting his body to balance them, to make her more comfortable. “Is Cavanaugh’s goon still here?” The way they were positioned, he couldn’t see for himself.

      She looked from the corner of her eye. “Standing and staring.”

      “Might as well relax. We could be here for a while.”

      He linked his arms behind her waist. Oddly, it didn’t make her freeze in terror. She was getting used to him, to his touch, to his scent, beginning to accept the idea he meant no harm. That she was able to relax around him, something she hadn’t been able to say about another man for nearly a decade, took her by surprise each and every time.

      He was different from any guy she had ever known. She didn’t want to think about that, wasn’t ready to consider the implications.

      “I didn’t get far,” she whispered, needing to return her thoughts to the job. She’d mapped a single hallway—didn’t even get to search the office, nor go downstairs to those doors Cavanaugh hadn’t shown her earlier.

      “Yeah, but you hit pay dirt. I’m guessing we’ll find some interesting things in Philippe’s desk when we get the chance. We know where it is now. We know what’s in the room, the layout.”

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