Chapter 9 #2
“You spoke with Mrs. Whitaker. But she’s not as dumb as she acts.” He smiled like a smart professor imparting wisdom on his less wise student.
Meanwhile, it was Shana’s professional opinion that Mrs. Whitaker was not dumb, but she was pathetic. There was no way Fiona Whitaker was the mastermind here. And there was every possibility that she was looking at the mastermind right now.
The waitress finally arrived with drinks—two glasses of champagne. She’d have preferred tequila or whiskey, but she took the requisite sip.
“It occurs to me I don’t know a thing about you—is there a Mrs. Peck I should know about?”
“I wouldn’t be here with you if there was, would I?”
“A girl can’t be too careful.”
“I don’t have any special someone in my life right now—except you.” He took a long sip. “You know I’ve had my eye on you for a while. Last I saw you had no interest in me. What changed your mind today?”
“It’s like you said. I was bloody fed up.”
He nodded. “Surfer boy’s attitude finally got to you.”
“If by attitude you mean lack of relationship skills, then you’re spot on.”
He smiled wide. Right on cue. The waitress came back and refilled their drinks, or his drink since she’d barely forced a sip, then took their orders.
“I’m glad we got business out of the way. Now I can get to know you better. I love your accent and your charming Australian colloquialisms, by the way.”
“And I admire your confidence,” she said. She hated it. He was bloody up himself.
He grinned like a schoolboy.
“Let’s toast—give me an authentic Australian toast.” He held up his champagne.
She clinked her glass to his and said, “Bob’s yer uncle.” Then she slugged down the drink to get it over with.
He laughed and she wasn’t sure if he pretended to be charmed by her descent into excessive Australian slang or if he was fair dinkum for the moment. The waitress brought their meal but she had no appetite.
“How about if we take an early mark?”
He gave her a quizzical look, his smile reaching his eyes.
“Leave early,” she said. Maybe he was into her because his face lit up like a gun flash.
“I would love to if you’ll let me buy you a nightcap back at my room.
” He waited and for once didn’t look a hundred percent sure.
Either he was channeling Don Juan or he had a sweet spot for her for real.
She wouldn’t assume it was real—not just yet.
But if so, that gave her a huge advantage.
And that excited her. She let it show on her face.
“I’d love to as long as you’re serving something stronger than champagne.”
“Whatever you want. How about Chivas?”
She raised a brow, but before she answered, her phone rang. It was check-in time with Cap. She slipped her phone out giving Peck an apologetic smile and answered the call.
“Shana here.”
“All’s well? I see you’ve been sitting in the window to make my job easy.”
“I can definitely have coffee with you in the morning. It’ll be fun.” She heard Cap suck in a breath.
“Don’t stay over. Your curfew is eleven p.m. and after that I’m coming to get you,” Cap said in a tight, no-nonsense voice.
She laughed. “We’ll see. Until then.” She ended the call and looked at Peck. He looked back at her and his smile was most definitely genuine now and slightly wolfish. Not nearly as wolfish as Dane’s, but it made her shiver with anticipation.
“Don’t tell me that wasn’t your shadow checking in.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“He got the message loud and clear that you’re spending the night with me.”
“Apparently you got the message too.” She felt the tension ratchet up as all the muscles in her gut tightened. Dane had said to go for broke. She tasted a bubble of bile.
There was no way in bloody hell she would go all the way. But she would have to play this as close as possible and not get herself in trouble. One way or another. With either Mr. FBI or Dane. Or Cap, for that matter.
She would think of something.
They left the restaurant and, thank the Lord, Cap stayed back. He had the advantage of knowing where Peck was staying.
* * *
Dane paced around like a worried grandmother, but no matter how many clucks at his pathetic behavior Acer shot at him, he didn’t care. Shana was out there with the person he knew was the mastermind behind the hidden money and the sniper.
Peck might even be behind the surveillance cars, although Dane couldn’t make himself believe that much. The guy didn’t wield enough juice for that.
He passed the kitchen window and paused, glancing at the winking lights in the harbor. He hoped to hell the sniper didn’t have a boat. But then he wouldn’t strike at night. Not if he wanted a money shot. It was too high risk.
The muffled jangle of his phone sounded in his pocket and he stopped dead, then slipped it out. It was Cap’s number flashing.
“Report.”
“I spoke with Shana. She’s fine. But in spite of my advice, she’s planning to go back to his room.” Cap stopped speaking. There was no sign that he was driving. No engine noise or breeze or rustling of movement.
“Follow. Anything else?” Dane said. His voice sounded strangely calm above the wild clanging of alarm bells pounding in his chest.
“What the hell? You okay with this?”
“I’m the one that told her to go for broke.” Damn him. Damn her.
“She said she was staying the night.”
“Bloody hell.” He used her words. Acer looked at him.
“I’ll call her,” Dane said.
“I’ll follow—but don’t wait to make that call, I let them get there ahead of me. He sat them in the window all night. He knows I’m on them.”
“Damn it to bloody hell. I’ll call now.” He punched off. The only problem with calling her was that she would probably not bother to answer his call and if she did, she most definitely wouldn’t listen to a damn thing he had to say at this point.
“What’s going on?” Acer came into the kitchen and got himself a drink.
“Shana’s planning to spend the night with Peck in the line of duty. Probably to spite me.”
“And you’re planning to call her off?” Acer sounded skeptical.
“No,” Dane decided. “I’m going to call him off.”
Acer smiled. “Brilliant idea. That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
* * *
Peck wasted no time changing all the way from business to pleasure the minute he unlocked the door to his suite at Mansion House and ushered her inside.
Wrapping his arms around her, she felt a chill, but not the good kind.
Instead, it was the kind that reached all the way through to leave her cold.
“Come in and get comfortable. I’ll get us those drinks.” He was close. He brushed her hair aside and caressed her cheek, but his hand felt like ice. Or it could have been her imagination.
She nodded and stepped away from him to take a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace.
It was time to concentrate on doing her job.
While Peck got their drinks, she checked the room for places he might keep documents.
She actually had no idea what she was looking for.
What she really needed to see was his phone.
His phone rang.
“What the hell?” he said as he took the phone from his discarded jacket and brought her drink to her. Sitting down next to her—practically on top of her—he wrapped an arm around her and answered the call.
“Yes?”
“Dane Blaise here.”
The shockingly familiar voice stunned her. She snapped her head around to see that Peck held his shock at bay, but he studied her as he spoke to Dane, holding the phone so she could hear everything.
“You have some information for me, Mr. Blaise?”
“No. You have something that’s mine.”
Peck scoffed. “Owning people is against the law, Dane. Has been for some time now. Anything else?”
“Send her home. Now. Or I come and get her.”
“Now you threaten kidnapping? You’re flirting with big trouble.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“Sure.” Peck looked a question. She wanted to run from the room. She’d felt dirty with this man but the way Dane spoke didn’t make her feel any better.
She shook her head no.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Dane. Have a good night.” He clicked off. If he was borderline obnoxiously confident before, then he was over-the-top unbearably smug now. She’d made her bed, made her choices.
She took his phone from his hand before he had a chance to do anything with it and slipped it behind her. Then before he could protest, she leaned in and touched her lips to his. She refused to think of it as a kiss.
Peck had other ideas. He returned with an ardent kiss of his own.
If she were honest, she’d have to admit he was skilled.
His hands caressed with a soft enticing touch, his lips pressed and parted, his tongue darted, the kiss was moist and had some passion, some tenderness to temper the lust. Mr. FBI was an excellent kisser.
Even while she remained cool on the inside, she put an arm around him and had no trouble playing her part, letting him run a hand down her side, over her rib cage, to rest on her hip.
Finally when he ended the kiss, he looked darkly passionate and serious, and not at all like a bad guy. She needed to slip the phone into her purse and use the bathroom before this went further. As she figured out what to say, he saved her the trouble.
“I’m floored by you. I think I may be in deep trouble.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, looking terribly vulnerable. But she knew he was not. Not as vulnerable as she was right now if she didn’t figure a way to get the info off the phone and get out of there.
“I have one thing to do, then I’m going to freshen up and I’m all yours for the evening. Deal?” Peck said.
She nodded. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her mouth, in a wet and sloppy uninviting kiss. He kept it short and she hoped he didn’t notice her barely there response as he pushed away from the couch.
Shana mentally crossed her fingers that the one thing he needed to take care of did not involve his cell phone. He stood, looking a tiny bit unsteady and left her to go into the bedroom.
After his door was shut, she slipped the phone out from behind the cushions and powered it up.
Of course there was a password. Damn. She tried to remember what Dane had taught her about this—about how to get around the password.
Something about a 911 exception. She tapped some numbers and dialed the call, then immediately hung up.
She was tempted to call Dane back, but she didn’t have time.
She needed to access Peck’s voicemails and his call history and take pictures of the history and any relevant texts with her camera.
Perusing his call history, none of the numbers jumped out at her, but that meant nothing.
She snapped her phone’s camera at his screen, while keeping an eye on his bedroom door.
After finishing with the call history, she tapped into his voicemail and listened to the last one, hitting record on her phone.
It was from his boss and he was urging at Peck to call. The message had been left when they were at dinner. A quick check told her it was the third call from the same number that evening. Wondering whether Peck was off the reservation, she was stopped short when a hand clamped around hers. Hard.