Operation: Reunited Read online

  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.
r />   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.