скачать книгу бесплатно
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.
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.
