Sleeping With The Enemy

The water stopped.

Chase muttered a curse, then started talking to his voice mail, asking the make-believe telephone company to please do whatever necessary to initiate service today. Yes, he could be reached at the high school after one o’clock.

He paused, and counted to ten.

Silence.

He felt like an idiot, but continued the one-sided dialogue anyway.

In the watch pocket of his blue jeans, he eased out two credit-card-thin silver discs, and wedged them inside the guts of the receiver. He slid the white plastic, protective covering back on the phone, then snapped it in place.

“Thank you,” he said into the mouthpiece, as the door to the bathroom swung open. “I’d really appreciate it.”

He turned, pressed the button to disconnect the call and mentally counted to ten before sliding his thumb over the six button, followed by two hits to the number one to erase the Bureau number from the redial memory. It wouldn’t do for Dr. Romine to become suspicious. The last thing he needed was for her to end up with the Bureau’s automated recording instead of the phone company he’d been pretending to call.

“Should be taken care of now,” he said, hanging up the telephone just as Dee walked into the kitchen.

“They’re usually pretty good about service,” she said, giving him the hint that occasionally the small regional phone company wasn’t as prompt as she’d sometimes like. “Someone probably just forgot to flip a switch somewhere.”

She’d brushed her hair, he noticed, and pulled the long silky strands into a ponytail, which swung over her shoulder when she bent to pull a teakettle from a low cabinet. Chase couldn’t help himself. He was a man. A man alone with a beautiful woman. When she bent over to look under the cabinet for the teakettle, his gaze landed right on her backside. A very curvy backside, too, he thought.

She moved to the sink to fill the kettle with water, then set it to boil on the stove. He reluctantly dragged his attention away from the curves beneath her robe and flashed her a grin when she looked his way.

“Sorry I can’t be more neighborly and offer you a cup of tea.” She lowered the flame under the kettle. “I really have to get to the clinic soon.”

“No problem.” He’d gotten luckier than he’d hoped by being able to place the dual transmitters in her telephone. He still couldn’t quite believe a woman who’d learned to be suspicious of just about everyone she came in contact with would leave him alone for any length of time in her apartment. “I better get going. More unpacking to do.”

The space between the stove and the sink was incredibly narrow. Whether she just didn’t think about the cramped space or she was playing some game of territorial one-upmanship he wasn’t privy to, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that she didn’t move and he’d have to touch her in order to pass. With no other choice but to squeeze between her and the speckled counter, his hand automatically landed on her hip as he attempted to ease his way around her.

Nothing could have prepared him for the electrical charge of sexual awareness that shot from the tips of his fingers straight to his groin. His fingers weren’t the only body parts that flexed, either. Telling himself she was the final piece of the puzzle to the whereabouts of her brother didn’t help. Pulling his hand back and putting some much needed physical distance between them was equally useless.

His body acknowledged hers with a fierce surge of good old-fashioned lust. He hoped like hell it’d just been a long time since he’d been with a woman. The instantaneous desire collided with his staunch denial there was nothing else to his physical reaction to Dee. She was a means to an end. The very nature of his job, his reason for even being in her apartment at ten in the morning on a late-summer day, forbade any emotional involvement with her whatsoever.

That didn’t stop the blood from pumping hard and fast through his veins.

“You work at the clinic?” he asked, putting more distance between them while attempting to redirect his thoughts.

She frowned. Had she felt it, too? he wondered.

“Yes,” she said, the note of awareness in her voice striking him right in the midsection with a ball of heat that burned, then shot lower and simmered.

Damn.

He edged out of the small kitchen into the living-room area. “So are you the one I call if I need an appointment to see the doc?” He already knew everything there was to know about her. Everything, he thought, except the way his body reacted to the nearness of hers. That had been a complete surprise.

“Are you asking me if I’m the receptionist?” she asked, settling her hands on the counter. Her hip, the one he swore he could still feel the imprint of against his fingers, tilted slightly to the side.

“I guess I was.”

A brief smile canted her mouth. “No. I’m not the receptionist.”

“Nurse?”

Her smile deepened. “Wrong again.”

He frowned, then lifted his eyebrows as if surprised. “You’re the town doctor?”

“And would you believe it? I went to school and everything,” she countered. An interesting light flashed in her gold-green eyes that matched the sass in her voice.

He grinned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

She closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just a little tired this morning.”

She folded her arms in front of her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re going to have to excuse me. I really need to get ready for work.”

“How about you let me buy you lunch?” he asked quickly. Whether his invitation stemmed from his need to solve the case or something more interesting he had no intention of pursuing, he couldn’t say. He opted for case related. “It’s the least I could do since I woke you up to use your phone.”

She let out a puff of breath and padded across the bare floor to the door. “That’s not necessary,” she said, swinging it open in a silent, but pointed, invitation for him to get out.

“I insist,” he pushed, walking toward her. “I feel bad about waking you.”

She looked away as he passed in front of her. He stepped onto the front porch and turned around, his hopes climbing a notch at the regret in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I have to work.”

“You get a lunch break, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m really busy today. But thank you anyway.” She let the door swing closed. The rattle of the safety chain told him she wouldn’t be changing her mind anytime soon.

He let out a frustrated stream of breath. The morning hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d managed to get the transmitters placed in her telephone. All incoming or outgoing calls from that telephone would be recorded. While any information he learned would be inadmissible, he couldn’t risk a leak, which was a real possibility if he attempted the legal route by obtaining a court ordered tap. She didn’t own a cellular telephone, but she did have a beeper. He also hadn’t been able to determine whether or not she had another extension in her bedroom.

He reined in the baser thoughts that readily flowed through his mind when he considered the means by which to gain entrance to Dr. Romine’s bedroom.

Shoving his hand through his hair, he stepped off her porch into the bright morning sunlight and headed across the small concrete courtyard bordered with overgrown, neglected foliage to the stairs leading up to his apartment. He’d stretched the boundaries of the law before to suit his own ends and he wasn’t above doing so now. When it came to tracking down those on the FBI’s most wanted list, he wouldn’t hesitate to stretch the rules to the point of breaking. Every now and then, he’d even managed a few stress cracks, but never had he ever completely ignored the laws he’d sworn to uphold. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy a challenge, and the Romine case definitely qualified.

Except Chase Bend-the-Rules Bracken had a problem. A problem that consisted of his body’s reaction to his only lead in the case he had to solve, or he’d be donating his dark blue suits to the Goodwill.

With a sigh of self-disgust, he walked into his apartment and headed straight for the locked spare bedroom. He flipped on the light and crossed the room, ignoring the high-powered scope set up near the window. Without bothering to sit, he leaned over and punched a series of keys on the computer keyboard. In the recorder next to him, surveillance tapes whirred to life then paused until triggered by the subject’s telephone. The red lights on the recording devices glowed.

He was ready, in the preliminary sense. If Jared Romine contacted his sister by telephone, Chase would know about it. His gut told him the rogue agent wouldn’t be so careless; it wasn’t Romine’s style considering he’d been underground for almost three years without so much as a hint to his whereabouts. The Bureau knew that somehow Romine maintained contact with his sister. Chase needed to determine exactly how the murdering agent did it. Then and only then would he be able to track the suspect down.

He arrogantly figured within two weeks he’d know everything he needed to finally apprehend Jared Romine.

A slow smile spread across his face. He wouldn’t uncover the information by using any of the high-tech surveillance equipment lining the walls of the spare bedroom. He’d learn it the old-fashioned way, by interrogating the suspect’s sister, in ways Chase was positive would never be found in any reference manual.

LONG HOURS WEREN’T NEW to Dee. Nor were shifts that extended long beyond her scheduled twelve hours. She learned to survive the grueling pace by napping whenever possible and drinking as much strong black coffee as her stomach lining could tolerate.

After the weekend she’d spent at the county hospital, followed by the fourteen-hour labor and delivery of Erma Dalton’s sixth child, she should be exhausted, but serving her internship in a busy Los Angeles emergency room two years ago had conditioned her for the endless hours young physicians often handled in the beginning of their careers.