Operation: Reunited

Chapter Two

Alexa carried the last bag of groceries into her professional gourmet kitchen. “Thanks, Minos,” she said to the man in the sleeveless T-shirt and torn jeans who had helped her.

Vane had disappeared as soon as they had pulled into the inn’s garage. Alexa figured he’d gone to socialize with some of the guests. He was good at that.

“No problem,” Minos said, hefting two bulging plastic bags onto the tile counter with ease. The short man with the large muscles looked at her with stern brown eyes beneath thick, dark brows, as though expecting her to say something else. To do something he would consider reportable to Vane.

Alexa hid her shudder. Between Minos and Vane, she felt under surveillance every moment of every day. She should be watching them. Not to mention all of the inn’s guests, every one of them here, she was certain, for some undivulged but nefarious purpose.

She’d seen similar deceitfulness before.

And when she had, the consequences had been unimaginably dire. Her parents had nearly lost their freedom.

She had irrevocably, horribly, lost Cole.

Minos hadn’t moved. At least he couldn’t stare into her thoughts. She swallowed her sigh. “I’m going to be starting dinner now,” she said with feigned cheerfulness. “If you want to hang around, I’ll put you to work mincing onions.”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said irritably.

She was certain he did—whatever Vane assigned to him. And Alexa was sure none of it would benefit the inn. Or her.

Or the world.

As Minos left, Alexa considered her duties of the moment. She did have to start cooking. She also had to make sure a room was ready for her new guest.

John O’Rourke. He seemed like a nice enough man. A home improvements salesman.

Why had he reminded her of Cole?

Well, she knew just how much good wishful thinking had done her. Zilch.

No knight in shining armor would come to save her from her dilemma. No Cole Rappaport, or even a surrogate, would arrive to make things right.

She would have to do it herself.

She had already tried once to run to the authorities. Mistake! She had learned a valuable lesson about who had more credibility: Vane or her. It wasn’t her.

And Vane had shown her then how he still could ruin her parents’ lives. Her life, too—even more than it already had been ruined.

Her options were limited, but she did have options.

She hoped.

PULLING THE CAR over to a curb, Cole glanced again at the directions Alexa had given him, then back up.

There it was, the Hideaway By The Lake. It was a large Swiss-style chalet with a peaked roof. The rails around the wide second-floor balcony were cut out in a uniform, gingerbread pattern.

Between the house and its neighbor was a tall bougainvillea hedge that lent privacy. Beyond, he glimpsed glistening blue water. A vacant lot next door was crowded with white pine trees.

“Nice,” he grumbled. He’d had no doubt that it would be.

Alexa had had good taste. Or so he had believed, until he had learned of her perfidy. Her betrayal.

And her engagement to Vane Walters.

Cole instinctively studied the rest of the street. Residential. Lined with resort-style houses of varying sizes— A-frames, small stucco haciendas—and all well-maintained. Not too close together, and a lot of secluding landscaping in between.

Plenty of places for someone to hide, though from what he gathered, no one was bothering to stay out of sight.

Just like last time.

Exiting the car, he popped the trunk and pulled out his single carry-on bag. He’d traveled light. He expected to be here for a while, but had no intention of worrying about how he dressed. The weight in his bag came from his laptop computer, some special equipment—and the Beretta 9 mm semiautomatic secreted in a hidden compartment.

The front door was large—carved black walnut. It was locked. Cole rang the bell, and in a moment Alexa answered.

“Mr. O’Rourke,” she said as she opened the door. He started to correct her, but she beat him to it. “John. Come in, please.” She stepped back, continuing to hold the door.

“Thanks.” He was highly conscious of her nearness as he skirted around her, his bag in his hand. The top of her head reached to just above his shoulder, and she looked almost childlike with her hair pulled back that way.

Almost. For there was no mistaking her sensuous curves in that casual outfit.

Then there was the subtle citrus scent that wafted about her. A familiar scent. Even after two years, she hadn’t changed that, at least. It reminded him of seduction. It reminded him of her.

He gritted his teeth. Okay, so he couldn’t be completely detached. She had been a desirable woman. She still was. He had seen it, felt it deep in his gut, earlier that day.

But he was a grown man. He would keep his lust in check. Unless there was some way to use it to further his goals….

Once, he had been determined to succeed, but he hadn’t been so much of an SOB as to cold-bloodedly engage in seduction to gain an advantage. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Is there something wrong, John?” Alexa asked.

He watched her anxious gaze take in the room in the direction he’d been staring, as though she feared she had missed cleaning some noxious piece of dirt.

“Not at all.” He pasted his most innocuous salesman’s smile on his face and looked down into her troubled eyes.

Soft blue eyes. They were missing the teasing twinkle he remembered. Or had she lost it over the years, because of what happened? That would be a shame.

“This place looks charming,” he continued hastily, turning away.

He wasn’t lying, this time. The inn was charming. Its entry was a combination lodge-like living room and hotel reception area, with high wood-beamed ceilings and a long, tall cedar desk along one wall. The tangy aroma of burnt wood emerged from a huge stone fireplace at one end of the room, although no fire blazed there now.

As he approached the registration desk, he was greeted by a dog. It was a German shepherd—a young one, still gangly and waiting for his thin body to catch up with the size of his long legs and large paws. But the animal must already have been well trained. He made no watchdog noises. No growls at the intruder that was Cole. No, guest. He was a paying guest here.

A guest with an agenda that his host and hostess would abhor.

Alexa stooped gracefully to hug the squirming puppy. “John,” she said, “meet Phantom.”

Cole froze. Phantom.

That had been Alexa’s nickname for him.

For a moment, his guard lowered like a tinted car window opening to reveal the recent past. How he wanted to bring her to her feet and into his arms. To tell her who he was, why he was here, and damn the consequences.

Except that she had betrayed him once. She might not realize it now, but she was betraying him again.

And he could not allow her to get away with it. The stakes could be too high.

“What an interesting name,” he said, hearing how tight his voice sounded. He cleared his throat, as if an allergy had caused moisture there—and not emotion. Cole Rappaport didn’t let emotion interfere with what he needed to accomplish. Ever.

“I once had a…friend I called Phantom,” Alexa said as she rose. She stared with her assessing blue eyes as if sizing him up once more. Assuring herself he wasn’t that very friend.

Did she know? How could she?

Putting his friendly, salesman look back on his face, Cole said cheerfully, “And what did that friend do that made you give him that nickname?”

“He disappeared,” she said. “A lot.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, betraying none of the bitterness of their past disagreements.

Ostensibly, Cole had been on leave from the army during the months they’d known each other. He hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. Now and then, he’d had to disappear, to follow a lead or report in person. When he’d returned, she never hesitated to express her anger that he hadn’t bothered to explain, or even to say goodbye. She had loved him then, with all the ardor he had ever dreamed of in a beautiful, sexy—demanding—woman.

At first, he would let her vent. After a while, he’d scoop her into his arms. That way she could unleash her passion in a much more enjoyable way. He still recalled her taste when he touched his tongue to her cheeks, stopping her salty tears with small, sensuous licks that turned into the most volatile sexual encounters….

God, how he had loved her! He had believed she was an innocent in all that was happening.

“That man must have been a fool,” Cole forced John O’Rourke to reply to Alexa. He nearly choked on the double meaning of the words. He had been a fool. But Alexa thought she was speaking about someone else, someone who wasn’t the man before her. He continued, “No man with any brains would ever disappear from a pretty woman like you.”

“Thanks,” she replied almost curtly. “Would you like me to show you the room I have available, before you check in?”

“Why not?” he said. And then he froze.

Entering through the open doorway at the far end of the living room was Vane Walters. He was followed by three men. All short or balding, unprepossessing. The kind of people who could disappear easily in a crowd.

But Cole didn’t take the time to study them thoroughly…now. His eyes were glued on Vane’s.

He didn’t blurt out the invectives that sprang to his lips. He was too well-schooled for that.

Alexa’s quick step forward abruptly shifted Cole’s gaze to her. “John O’Rourke,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my partner at the Hideaway, my fiancé, Vane Walters.”

Was there a tremor in her voice?

Cole didn’t look down at her. “Hi, Vane,” he said in a hearty salesman’s voice. He approached Vane with his hand out and his heart beating faster. Alexa had seemed to recognize him before seeing him closer, talking to him. Would Vane?

“Hello,” Vane said. He didn’t look pleased to see the man whose hand he shook, but neither was there recognition in his stare.

“You’ve got a great place,” Cole said. “I’m glad you had a room available. Alexa’s going to show it to me now.”

“Fine,” said Vane.

Cole saw a look pass between Alexa and Vane. He couldn’t interpret it. But then Vane glanced back at Cole.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“John,” Cole corrected. “I’m sure I will.”

And he was equally sure that Vane—and Alexa—would rue the day John O’Rourke ever took a room at the Hideaway By The Lake.

“IT’S PERFECT.” John O’Rourke stepped behind Alexa into the cubbyhole of a room that she had opened for him. He was so large that his shoulders, beneath his loose green shirt, seemed to stretch from one oak-paneled wall to the opposite, painted one. At least his head didn’t touch the high ceiling. But the bed was a normal-size double with a plain pine headboard, and Alexa suspected his feet would hang off the end—not that she intended ever to find out.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” Alexa tried to sound hopeful, though her real hope was that he would hate it. She had had angry words with Vane again as she had come upstairs to make sure the room was ready. He had reminded her of his acute displeasure with her by his glare a few minutes earlier. Maybe she had been wrong in picking this particular small rebellion. She had much larger ones to plan.

But first she had to figure out a way to protect her parents.

“I don’t have any rooms available with a lake view,” she continued, “and this one looks out on the neighbor’s property.” She pointed toward the window with the lacy curtains she had sewn herself.

“That’s fine. I mostly wanted to be near the lake so I can jog beside it. Is that the bathroom?” He pointed toward a closed wooden door.

He was standing near her. She could almost imagine she felt his body heat mingling with her own….

Where had that thought come from?

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Would you like to see it?” Alone, she thought. I’m not going to go show it to you. She felt her face redden. The thought of John O’Rourke in the small shower stall, naked and dripping and utterly, masculinely, erotically filling it, made her think yet again of Cole Rappaport. Showering with him. Making long, slow, wet love with him in a similar shower stall up here, in this inn at Skytop Lake where they had stayed together.

Just before he had died. And hell had broken loose.

The bubble that was her euphorically sensuous recollection burst abruptly. She had to get hold of herself. Her mind had been spiraling into chaos ever since she had first spotted this man, just because his stride had somehow reminded her of Cole.

John crossed the room and peered into the bathroom. He turned back, a pleasant smile on his much-too-handsome face. “It’s great. I’ll take it.”

“Good,” she lied, wishing now she had never agreed to let him have a room. She needed all her senses to be sharp, her mind keen. “Come downstairs to fill out the paperwork, then you can get settled. I have to work on dinner.”

“That’s right—the lady in the food store said you have a gourmet restaurant here.”

Oh, please, she thought. I don’t want to see you this evening. But at least he would provide a respite from the other guests whom she was required to serve. Still, she said, “Yes, though there are other good restaurants in the area. Don’t feel obligated to—”

“I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere else,” he said.

He followed her out of the room. Behind her on the stairs to the main floor, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“It’s Mexican.” Maybe he didn’t like spicy foods. “I usually do two main dishes. The specialty tonight is chile rellenos, my own recipe—very hot. I also have quesadillas with beef and jalapeño cheese. Both are served with a seasoned taco salad.”

“All spicy?”

“Yes.” Please, thought Alexa. Tell me how much you detest things that are hot. But turning to look at him, she suspected that this man was himself very hot. Fiery. Especially if he was anything like Cole. And maybe that ran to his taste in food, as well.

“There’s nothing I like better than food that puts hair on my chest.”

Involuntarily glancing up toward the shock of black, curly hair peeking from the open V of his shirt, Alexa smiled uncertainly. But what about the sauce you bought? Alexa wanted to ask. It was mild. She said nothing. Instead, she fled down the rest of the steps.

COLE HAD UNPACKED his few belongings, hanging a couple of shirts in the handsome, carved teak wardrobe along one wall, finding places to conceal his equipment. He had begun to settle into his room at the inn. This inn that held so many bittersweet memories. Alexa’s inn.

Alexa’s…and Vane’s. He could not allow himself to forget that it belonged to the two of them.

The two of them, together, now. And before.

The man he had loved like a brother…and the woman he had loved more than life.

Fortunately, though the room was small, it had its own phone, so he had been able to use the modem in his laptop. Sitting on the bed, on top of the homey chenille bedspread, Cole glared at the screen.

Not that he was surprised, after his earlier phone call, at the contents of the encrypted e-mail from Forbes Bowman that he’d just deciphered. But it made his stay here even more necessary.

He had come to Skytop Lake because of the latest intelligence from his most reliable overseas contacts. According to rumor, the terrorist operation that had supposedly ended with the blast meant to kill Cole had apparently been resurrected—and the trail led straight here.

Reports of several field agents had been due today, concurrent with Cole’s arrival. According to Forbes’s e-mail, they had hit only dead ends. There was no information yet on any similar operations anywhere in the country. Either this inn was the only location, or the agency’s sources were not yet coming through.

Last time, there had been at least half a dozen havens for foreign terrorist agents sent for training and preparation for dispersal to strategic facilities all over the U.S. Maybe more. All the havens had been a part of the Kenner Hotels—the elite chain that had been owned by Alexa’s family.

The elite chain that no longer existed, thanks to the events of two years ago.

Back then, Cole had been undercover, seeking to learn the terrorists’ goal. He hadn’t succeeded. All he had known was that every one of the agents had been highly trained in handling and detonating explosives. His group had speculated that each was to destroy some key U.S. facility—probably triggered all at once. But he didn’t know which facilities. Or why.

This time, he would find all the answers. He would succeed.

He had a starting point, for he knew now that Vane Walters was involved, as he had been two years ago.

So was Alexa Kenner.

Alexa. Cole felt his heart grow cold. She was still so breathtakingly beautiful.

So deadly.

Unconsciously, he touched the cosmetic surgery scar at the side of his face, beneath his hair.

“Why, Alexa?” he whispered into the stillness of his room. Had she been in love with Vane even then?

Cole would never have thought there was someone more important in Alexa’s life two years ago. Not with the passion they had shared.

So much had happened between them, both in Santa Monica, and most especially here, at Skytop Lake. At this very inn, though it had been very different then. More run-down.

Why had she bought this place with Vane? So she could laugh at how she had tricked Cole? Had seduced the foolish man, made love with him…killed him?

“Damn!” Cole clenched his fists so tightly that his hands immediately cramped. He loosened them and stared at his fingers, at the small red scars, nearly invisible now, that he had also incurred in the explosion. Recalled how excruciating the physical pain had been. His hands still ached. So did much of the rest of his body.

Alexa and Vane didn’t know he had survived. He hadn’t told them because he thought their ignorance would protect them.

Instead, it had probably protected him. From them.

He glanced again at Forbes’s e-mail message. It ended with “We’re counting on you.”

Forbes had been there for him when the compost had hit the fan two years ago. Had pulled him from the garage set ablaze by the explosion. Had saved his life, and had helped to save his sanity.

No, Cole would not let Forbes down. He typed in a return message to his friend, then set the encryption software.

“Will report back soon,” he wrote to his boss. “With something useful.”

Chapter Three

There were only eight tables in Alexa’s dining room overlooking the lake, the better for her to provide individual attention to all her guests.

Before.

Now, when customers called from outside the inn, the majority were told there were no reservations available, for meals or for rooms. A few exceptions were made most evenings so the place would still resemble a public restaurant. But those people were all served early, at six o’clock. The inn’s guests ate at seven.