Her forehead wrinkled. “You don’tmean…”
“I mean, have sex with the guy and pump him forinformation.”
In an instant her face went from flushed to whiter than his marble rolling pin. “I don’t think so.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “He’s really not mytype.”
Yes.Jake’s strategy was working. He pushed harder, knowing in his gut he had to get her out of Oceanic, wishing he’d never been fool enough to involve an innocent woman in his personal vendetta. Unfortunately, his common sense had returned a little late. If he couldn’t persuade her to back away from Oceanic, he’d have to trick her into doing it. Deliberately, he hardened his voice. “This isn’t a game, you know. It’s a serious investigation. You’re either in or you’re out. And if you’re in, I do meanall theway.”
He waited for her to throw the wine in his face and storm out. With luck he’d get a chance to explain his behavior when this thing was all over, maybe even pursue this tantalizing attraction between them. But for right now, he’d risk her good opinion to get her safely out ofOceanic.
Instead of throwing the wine or a tantrum, she rose with a polite smile. “I should have brought that welcome-to-the-neighborhood Bundt cake, then we’d have haddessert.”
“Look,Cyn—”
“It’s dark now, Agent Wheeler. May I gohome?”
The sky was dark, all right, but not nearly as dark as his mood as he skulked with her down the backalley.
Before she slipped into her house, she gripped his arm. “I am not a quitter,” shewhispered.
Somehow, he’d have to find a way to make her become one. If Neville Percivald couldn’t stop her, Jake would have to find a way to do ithimself.
AWEEK LATER,he was still trying to figure out a way to get Cynthia Baxter to un-volunteer. He’d stubbornly refused to contact her all week, and despite the fact that he’d kept his cell phone turned on and near him all week, day and night, he hadn’t heard a peep fromher.
He hated stubbornwomen.
He’d have been worried sick if he hadn’t joined the rest of the neighborhood curtain-twitching squad and taken to monitoring her movements in the most low-tech way of all. He peered out his window at her when she left for work in the morning, and he’d become so finely tuned to the sound of her car motor that he was back at his post each evening when she returned, driving past his house with her nose pointed straight ahead and her chin in the air in a littleup yoursposture that kept his blood perpetually on lowsimmer.
He had to do something. She was getting in the way of his work. He had to schedule all his appointments, do all his digging, after she’d left for work in the morning, then be home again in time to watch for her safereturn.
It was all her fault for pretending to be someone she wasn’t. He never would have asked her to be his informal spy if he hadn’t believed she was tough, street smart and kinkier than the Marquis deSade.
He felt like a fool. And the worst part was she had him thinking about her at night, too—remembering how she’d looked naked, her naturally slender body gently rounded in all the right places. Then there was the way she’d felt in his arms. Like she belongedthere.
Thinking about her made him irritable and edgy as he hovered by the window like an overprotective husband, checking his watch and straining his ears for her engine. It was six-thirty. She was always home bysix.
He checked that his phone was fully charged, started to pace. His blood pressure rose as he pictured Cynthia in danger. Being forced onto a fishingboat—
“No!” he said aloud, shoving the ugly visionaway.
He heard a car turn onto Rodonda Drive, but his ears told him immediately it wasn’t Cynthia’s. He twitched his curtain and saw a yellow taxi pull up outside Mrs. Lawrence’s place and Mrs. Lawrence get out. He grabbed his keys and wallet, pulled on a jacket and sprinted for his frontdoor.
His elderly neighbor was just starting up her frontpath.
“Nice evening,” he said by way ofgreeting.
She smiled at him. “Yes.” Good, she had her hearing aid turnedon.
He sauntered to the fence. “I’ve been helping Cynthia with somepainting.”
“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Lawrence said, not even blushing at being such a nosyneighbor.
“I said I’d help her tonight, but she’s not homeyet.”
“Oh, well. It’s Tuesday, isn’tit?”
“Ye-es.”
She smiled, like she’d just won at bingo. “Deep water aerobics. She’ll be home by half pastseven.”
