Operation: Reunited

Then, Vane was the one to move from table to elegantly set table, the consummate host. Alexa’s role was to provide the food and serve it with a smile, then fade back into the kitchen.

That was all right with her, at least most of the time. She didn’t want to socialize with their guests. Though she was filled with questions, she doubted any of them would answer—even those who spoke English.

Putting food on the eight tables kept her busy—especially that night. She’d had a college-age kid helping until a few months ago. Now, only Minos helped to wait tables. She didn’t know where he was that evening, only that he was not at the inn.

She didn’t miss him.

When John came downstairs, it was seven o’clock. She should, perhaps, have called him down earlier, since he had made it clear he intended to eat there that night. Perversely, she hadn’t. She wanted to see Vane’s reaction to having this guest join the rest.

At the time John arrived, all tables were occupied. Vane had just gone into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

Alexa approached John at the dining room door. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re full.” She felt self-conscious in the long, lacy apron she wore over her black slacks and sleeveless sweater. Though she was a gourmet cook, she was far from a neat one.

“That’s okay.” His eyes ranged over her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. But he raised his brows as if in appreciation and smiled. “My compliments to the chef.”

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.” She felt herself redden.

“I will.” He approached one of the tables. “Mind if I join you?” he asked two of the B & B’s guests, a young couple who sat at a table for four.

The two glanced at one another, then at the guests seated at the next table. Neither seemed certain what to do.

Apparently etiquette won out over whatever else warred inside them. “Please,” said the man, gesturing toward an empty seat. His accent was heavy, but Alexa didn’t know where he was from. His hair was dark, as was his complexion. Annoyance glowed from eyes too close together over a long, broad nose.

His female companion’s mahogany eyes took in John, who had dressed in a light blue sports shirt. She apparently liked what she saw, for she smiled.

The seductive smile annoyed Alexa. She was even more annoyed when John smiled back.

“I’m John O’Rourke.” He held out his hand.

His new companions gave their names, Ed and Jill Fuller. That was how they had registered, but Alexa suspected that the names were false.

When Vane reentered the dining room, his gaze landed on John. His demeanor grew stiff as he approached the table. “Everything okay?” he asked, including John O’Rourke in his gaze.

But Alexa knew the question was for Vane’s guests.

And if things were not okay with them, she knew who would pay. She tensed, recalling her earlier thought about wanting to see Vane’s reaction. Fool, she chided herself. Had she thought he’d be pleased?

But he might have been less irritated if John had been sitting by himself.

Before Ed Fuller could respond, Jill said, “All is good. We are friends here, yes?”

“Absolutely.” John winked at the woman.

It was Alexa’s turn to go rigid, but even with her stiff shoulders, she went about serving the others in the dining room.

Alexa kept an eye on Vane, as he watched that particular table. Closely. Now and then he joined the group.

If only Alexa could eavesdrop. In the low rumble of dinner chatter from all the other tables, she only caught snatches as she took orders, served food and cleared dishes. Was Vane making mental notes, preparing to take out on Alexa later any displeasure registered by his guests?

“Where are you from?” she heard John ask Jill, when Vane was at the far side of the room.

“I am from Bolivia,” she said very slowly and distinctly, in an accent that did not, in Alexa’s estimation, resemble Spanish.

If John thought he was being lied to, he didn’t show it. “You speak English well.”

“Not so good,” she replied with a self-deprecating smile that made it clear she enjoyed John’s attention.

Her husband was clearly displeased when he jumped into the conversation. “We are learning here to speak good,” he said, sounding defensive.

“I know how hard that can be,” John said. “Learning different languages is not something I’m good at. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His amiable grin encompassed both his companions. Ed Fuller’s glare eased a little.

“How did you try?”

Jill’s distinct and deliberate speech would have driven Alexa crazy if she’d been sitting with them. She gathered dirty soup bowls from a neighboring table, taking her time to prevent being obvious in her listening.

“I was a foreign exchange student in high school. I went to Switzerland, the French-speaking part. In return, my family had three different exchange students stay in our house for a few months at a time. I did a lot better helping them with their English than my host family did teaching me French.” Again he grinned, this time with an embarrassed shrug of his very broad shoulders—shoulders Jill apparently noticed, for her admiring smile was more feline than friendly.

Alexa refrained from slinging a bowl at the woman. It wasn’t her business if the guests chose to make fools of themselves. And a woman’s flirting with a man, no matter how great-looking and sexy he was, right in front of her husband—well, that was definitely foolish.

Unless they weren’t really married….

John took some taco chips that Alexa had baked from scratch, from a basket on the table. He barely looked at them as he dipped them in homemade salsa. That annoyed Alexa. She scooped up her handful of dishes and hurried into the kitchen. There, she ladled bowls of tortilla soup for John’s table. She had made it spicy. Now, she considered adding even more chili pepper to John’s. That would divert his attention from Jill Fuller.

Phantom was watching. In deference to keeping the food preparation sanitary, she blocked him into an adjoining room with a removable gate. As always, she spoke softly to him, and he greeted her in return by chuffing and dancing and wagging his tail.

“I’ll give you a big hug later,” she promised.

“Do you need any help, Alexa?” Vane stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He appeared irritated.

She realized he wasn’t really offering help, just criticism. She was too slow tonight.

She had to stop allowing John O’Rourke to distract her.

“No, thanks, Vane,” she said. She picked up the tray with three soup bowls on it and hurried toward him. “I’m fine. Go ahead and entertain our guests.”

But he didn’t budge. As she approached him, he said through gritted teeth, “It appears that your friend O’Rourke is doing a good job of entertaining all by himself.”

Waves of panic shot up Alexa’s spine, but she stood still, balancing the awkward tray. “Yes,” she said with a forced smile. “He’s a salesman, and I guess salesmen like to talk.”

“This one likes to ask questions. Too many questions. I think we’d better suggest that he find someplace else to stay.”

In other words, she was to urge John to leave. Quickly.

“I don’t think he intends to stay long, anyway.” A little continued prevarication wouldn’t hurt, she hoped. She could tell Vane later that she hadn’t understood John’s intentions.

But she liked having someone around who was here just because he wanted to be. As if this place were still an innocent inn.

As long as she was the only one Vane threatened, she wouldn’t insist that John leave. But if the threats were ever leveled at the man she had encouraged to come here, she would get him out. Fast.

“I’ll hold you responsible if any of the other guests feel uncomfortable with your friend, Alexa.”

Vane’s icy frown made her want to cringe, and she was relieved when he pivoted and left the kitchen.

Alexa put down the tray for a moment and sagged against the center island. Her legs were shaking. Damn! This was no way to live.

She wouldn’t live this way much longer, she promised herself. As soon as she had what she needed to protect her parents and herself, she would escape.

Alexa would have sacrificed herself, and even her parents, if it would have done a damn bit of good. But it wouldn’t. Vane had made that clear.

She picked up the tray once more and entered the dining room. Vane had joined some guests across the room and didn’t even glance her way. Alexa served Jill Fuller a bowl of steaming soup first, Ed second and John last.

“This smells great,” John said. “What kind is it?” She told him. He turned to his dinner companions. “Have you ever eaten tortilla soup before? I’m not sure what Bolivian cuisine is like.”

Ed Fuller appeared confused by John’s question. Patiently, John rephrased it. Jill was the one to reply, but Alexa didn’t hear her answer.

“Ms. Kenner?” called a less heavily accented voice. Another guest, a few tables away, was holding up an empty wineglass. It was obvious what the man with the wrinkled face and demanding voice wanted, but Vane, seated at an adjoining table, just nodded curtly toward Alexa. Hiding her annoyance, she hurried to refill the customer’s glass.

Alexa was too busy after that to do more than catch snatches of the conversation at John’s table.

“This is a soup spoon,” John said once, holding up the utensil. “This is a teaspoon.” The others at his table repeated the names.

He was teaching them English!

What did Alexa expect from a personable salesman? A former exchange student who could empathize with people who didn’t understand the language in a strange country.

Several of Vane’s guests spoke English well. Many didn’t. Alexa suspected they all were terrorists, just like the last time. She had learned that after the fact, during the horror following Cole’s death.

She had recognized the possibility this time, as soon as Vane started bringing in his own guests—all together, all foreign, all with identification that didn’t seem to fit. But for the moment, there wasn’t anything she could do about it—not without wrecking her parents’ lives. What was left of her own, too.

She needed Vane’s damn file.

She would find it. And more… Soon.

A short while later, Alexa prepared to bring a serving of chile rellenos to John and his companions. She glanced down at the plates. The filled chile peppers were mounded with spicy Mexican-style rice and covered with sizzling cheese.

John had claimed he liked spicy foods. If he didn’t, that fact would come out now.

When she brought out the steaming dish, John was leaning over, conversing with two older men at the next table. It wasn’t enough for him to make friends with the Fullers. He was branching out.

“And what brings you to Skytop Lake?” he asked the closer of the two.

“Ah…pleasure.” The white-haired man with an underslung jaw had almost no accent. “I am here on holiday.”

“And you’re on vacation, too?” John said to the other man. “Where are you from?”

“New York” was the curt, precise reply that belied the answer. “Here comes your meal,” the thin, wrinkled man added, looking toward Alexa.

John turned toward her, as she put the plate in front of him. “This looks wonderful,” he told her. He inhaled deeply. “Smells wonderful, too.”

“It is wonderful,” she replied. “You’d better enjoy it.”

He grinned and used his fork to cut off a hefty piece. He took a bite. She expected his eyes to water, but they didn’t. She felt her eyebrows lift. Even her eyes watered when she had tasted the meal in the kitchen, and she was a true aficionado of spicy foods.

“It’s great!” John said, and took another mouthful.

So what if he’d bought a mild salsa at the gourmet food shop? He obviously liked things hot.

Cole had liked things hot, too….

Alexa glanced around the room. Vane was staring at them. She didn’t like the fractious gleam in his eye.

She escaped into the kitchen, greeting the eager Phantom, who wriggled behind his gate, with a quick pat before she washed her hands again.

When John had finished and signed for his meal, she expected him to go into the parlor with Vane and the rest of the guests. Instead, he joined her in the kitchen.

“You look as though you could use some help. How about a dishwasher? I work cheap.”

“How cheap?”

“You can’t get cheaper than free.”

“But—” Before she could voice any objections, he had tied a plain, lace-free apron around his waist and dug into the pile of dishes mounded in and around the sink. “You don’t need to get them spotless,” she said resignedly. “Just scrape the visible food off and pile them into the dishwasher.”

“Good. I have to admit, I’m not the world’s best dishwasher, only its best home improvements salesman.”

“And bull thrower.” She felt her mouth quirk into a grin.

“Ah, you were listening in on some of my conversations in the dining room,” he said with an arch smile. “I thought so.”

As usual in his presence, Alexa flushed. “You don’t want me to have eavesdropped. If I did, I’d know how nosy you are.”

“Nosy? Me?” The tone of his deep voice feigned hurt.

“I heard more questions from you than on a TV game show.”

“I’m darn good at games,” he said with a raise of one straight, dark brow and a roguish curve to his lips.

“I’ll bet you are.” Had he meant the suggestive undercurrent to his words? Alexa was nearly certain he had.

How was she going to get through the rest of the evening here, with this man interrupting her work, her thoughts? Her kitchen was large, but his presence made it seem as tiny as his bedroom.

Hadn’t she thought only a few minutes before how foolish it was for a married woman to flirt with another man in front of her husband? Whether she liked it or not, Alexa was engaged. Her fiancé was in the next room.

She glanced at the ring that weighed her hand down as if the stone it held was lead rather than a huge diamond. She didn’t dare end the engagement yet. It would be playing with fire for her to defy Vane…now.

She would be playing with fire by flirting with John.

She couldn’t exactly throw him out bodily. Nor did she want to touch that substantial body to try…did she? He wore navy trousers with his lighter blue shirt, and they looked great on him. His movements with the dirty dishes were decisive but deft. She had no fear that he’d fumble and drop them, despite the large size of his hands.

What would it feel like to have those hands stroking her…?

Why was she thinking such thoughts?

Whatever else Vane was, he had been a gentleman about not pushing her to have sex when she wanted nothing to do with him. And she’d wanted nothing at all to do with him for the months since he had seized control of their inn.

But John had reminded her of Cole. The very recollection of Cole dredged up yearning, libidinous feelings that she had kept hidden deep inside for ages.

Forcing her thoughts back to reality, she continued cleaning, trying to pretend John wasn’t there. That was hard to do, as he helped her stack dishes in the industrial-size dishwasher.

His curiosity had seemed unbridled as he had tossed questions to Vane’s guests. Vane had noticed, which wasn’t good. John had also been kind to work with the couple at his table, teaching them English.

John O’Rourke, surprisingly sexy home improvements salesman, was a man of many facets.

Eventually, they were finished with the dishes. “Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime.” He went to the shelves where she kept seasonings, and eyed them. “Looks like you’re partial to hot stuff.”

“The hotter the better,” she said.

It was his turn to look at her in surprise. He leered, then laughed. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, then left the kitchen.

ALEXA TOOK HER TIME putting the mounds of cookware away, making lists of dishes for the next day’s meals and ensuring she had the ingredients…ordinary activities. Or activities that would have been ordinary had the circumstances been normal.

The truth was, she was trapped here, at her own bed-and-breakfast. She knew Vane was involved in something at best illegal, at worst malevolent. The guests—possibly terrorists—had all been invited by him…except one. And that guest was a puzzle, too.

Surrounded by people, Alexa was alone. She could trust no one. She could rely only on herself.

When she couldn’t think of further excuses to stay in the kitchen, she released Phantom from behind the gate. She knelt to give the cute, intense puppy a big hug, then rose. “Come on,” she said, leading him out.

She hadn’t intended to go into the parlor. She did not want to mingle with the people Vane had brought here. But she spied John in a hard-backed seat in the midst of them. They were grouped on the overstuffed sofa and assortment of chairs, all turned to face one wall so they could watch television—all the better to perfect their use of U.S. customs and language, she surmised. They congregated together like this a lot.

For just a moment, she leaned on the doorjamb to observe—because she was curious, she told herself, and not because she had any interest in studying John. Phantom lay at her feet. The crowd had the TV tuned to a quiz show, something called “Millions on Your Mind”—a clone of several other popular programs. Cheers and cat-calls erupted from the small crowd of viewers in her house. What were they up to?

“It’s koa wood,” cried John, his large frame raised from the chair. “From Hawaii. That’s the answer.” He lifted his hands and swatted the air, as if he were somehow tossing his knowledge to the contestant on the TV screen.

“Are you certain?” asked Jill, who sat beside him—of course. “Ko-a?”

“Yes. It’s a great shade of golden red when it’s polished, and has a unique grain. That’s definitely it.”

Alexa felt the chile rellenos that she had hurriedly downed in the kitchen begin to churn in her stomach. Koa wood. Wood.

Cole Rappaport had been an expert on trees. When they had come here to Skytop Lake, he had pointed out the various types of pine trees, including ponderosa, Coulter and white, plus some of the most common deciduous trees—Pacific dogwood, white alder, California black oak. He had been able to tell them apart by their size and shape, their bark, their leaves. Plus, he had described what their grain was like inside.

Cole would have known the answer to this quiz show question, too. Cole knew everything about trees.

An icy shiver passed through Alexa. She studied John once more. Yes, she still saw some resemblance to Cole, but it was all superficial—height, build. And handsome? Oh, yes. Definitely. Incredibly. But he didn’t look like Cole.

And Cole, whether she could accept it or not, was dead.

ALEXA COULDN’T SLEEP that night. Instead, she stood outside her bedroom, on the balcony at the rear that ran the width of the B & B’s second story and matched the one at the front of the house. She did not bother to flip on its light, preferring to stay in the dark.

Preferring not to advertise her presence, for she did not want any uninvited company—namely Vane.

She knew she lost money by not making available to guests one of the few bedrooms that opened onto the balcony, with its lake view. Vane had argued with her about it from the very first. But she had been firm. Keeping it to herself was worth any cost…especially now.

It gave her peace, or at least as much peace as possible during this incredibly difficult time.

She leaned on the rail and watched lights from surrounding residences play along the patches of rippling water visible through the trees. The air was fragrant with the scent of pine blowing in the mountaintop breeze. She shivered a little in the coolness, gathering her long terry-cloth robe more closely about her.

“Beautiful view,” said a deep masculine voice, startling her.

She pivoted. John O’Rourke had just come through the door to the center hallway of the B & B’s upper floor. He was still dressed in the clothing he’d worn at supper.

And he was looking at her, not the lake.

Alexa pretended not to notice. “Yes, it is.”

Her blessed solitude had been abruptly terminated. But to her surprise, she didn’t mind.

He joined her at the rail, clasping his hands together and leaning on his arms. She was aware of his closeness. The warmth from his body radiated toward her—or was it her own sexual awareness of this gorgeous, sensual man that caused her to burn?

She was also aware of how he stared deeply into the darkness, as if trying to see into the myriad shadows between the trees and the house. What was he looking for?

“You can’t sleep?” he asked without looking at her. Another of his many questions.

She shook her head. “I’ve a lot on my mind. And you?”

“The same.” He glanced at her, but only momentarily. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.”

“Tell you what?” She felt suddenly jittery. What did he want to know? And why did he stare at the neighborhood like that, as if expecting to see something that didn’t belong?

“Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

She made herself laugh. Attempting to regain the teasing familiarity they had shared as they had worked on the dinner dishes, she answered flippantly, “A guilty conscience.”

John turned to her so abruptly that she took a step backward, her hands up for protection. In the faint light from the neighboring properties, she had no trouble making out the sharpness to his glare.

“And just why would that be?” His wide lips softened just a bit at the edges, as if he struggled to smile, to soften the harshness of his question.

Her attempt at levity so obviously unsuccessful, Alexa shrugged beneath her robe. She lowered her hands and looked out again over the shimmering water of the lake. “Just a figure of speech,” she replied softly.

Why had he gotten so upset?

John suddenly grasped Alexa’s arms, turning her to face him. His grip was firm, insistent, just short of hurting her. His hands released her quickly, but his gaze didn’t. His eyes seemed to glow in the faint light on the balcony, as if they had a source of illumination of their own.

“Alexa,” he said in a surprisingly soft and sympathetic voice, “I…I sense something here. Something not quite right. If you’d like to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

“You’re imagining things,” she said quickly.

“Am I?”

For a brief, crazy moment, she considered blurting out everything. What had happened two years ago. How the terrors of the past had somehow been resurrected right here, at the haven she had turned to in an attempt to put it all behind her.

How she feared what Vane was up to. How alone she felt, how responsible and scared.

How badly she missed Cole Rappaport.

She bit her bottom lip to prevent it all from spilling from her. She looked up into John’s curious and kind gaze.

He was a salesman. A people person. He seemed outgoing, yet full of empathy.

Could he help her?

No, shouted a voice inside her. You’re still mistaking him for Cole. He’s not here to save you.

You have to do that yourself.

She was alone here, in the midst of all these people. And she didn’t dare forget it.

“There’s nothing,” Alexa said firmly, though she glanced away from the inquisitiveness and sympathy in John’s eyes. “Nothing at all.”

“If you change your mind,” John said, “all you have to do is—”

“Alexa!”

She turned to the glass door to the house. It slid open, and Vane stood there, fully dressed, as if he had been out somewhere.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his tone almost accusatory.

“Sorry,” she said. She glanced toward John, intending it to be firm but apologetic. Hoping, for her own sake, to see in his continued stare the sympathy she had noticed before.