Secrets and Desire: Best-Kept Lies / Miss Pruitt's Private Life / Secrets, Lies...and Passion

“But first, a man, I think,” Sharon said. “They seem to be a necessary part of the equation.” She glanced at Kurt, but Randi ignored the innuendo. She didn’t need a man to help raise her son. She’d do just fine on her own.

They didn’t stay long. While the women were packing Joshua’s things, Kurt asked Sharon if she’d had any strange phone calls or visitors. When Sharon reported that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Kurt called his partner and within fifteen minutes, Randi, Kurt and Joshua, tucked into his car seat, were on the road and heading east out of Seattle. The rain had started, a deep steady mist, and Striker had flipped on the wipers.

“You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“Inland.”

“I know that much, but where exactly?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she said, “I have a job to do. Remember? I can’t be gone indefinitely.” She glanced at her watch, scowled as it was after three, then dug in her purse, retrieved her cell phone and punched out the numbers for the Clarion. Within a minute she was connected to Bill Withers’s voice mail and left a quick message, indicating she had a family emergency and vowing she would e-mail a couple of new columns. As she hung up, she said, “I don’t know how much of that Withers will buy, but it should give us a couple of days.”

“Maybe that’s all we’ll need.” He sped around a fuel truck, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Listen, Striker, we’ve got to nail this creep and soon,” Randi said as the wipers slapped away the rain. “I need my life back.”

The look he sent her sliced into her soul. “So do I.”

The bitch wouldn’t get away with it.

Three cars behind Striker’s truck, gloved hands tight over the steering wheel, the would-be killer drove carefully, coming close to the pickup, then backing off, listening to a CD from the eighties as red taillights blurred. Jon Bon Jovi’s voice wailed through the speakers and the stalker licked dry lips as the pickup cut across the floating bridge, over the steely waters of Lake Washington. Who knew where they were headed? To the suburbs of upscale Bellevue? Or somewhere around Lake Sammamish? Maybe farther into the forested hills. Even the Cascade Mountains.

Whatever.

It didn’t matter.

Sweet vengeance brought a smile to the stalker’s lips.

Randi McCafferty’s destination was about to become her final resting place.

Nine

“Get the baby ready,” Kurt said as he took an exit off the freeway. Glancing in the rearview mirror to be certain he wasn’t followed, he doubled back, heading west, only to get off at the previous stop and drive along a frontage heading toward Seattle again.

“What are we doing?” Randi asked.

“Changing vehicles.” Carefully he timed the stoplights, making certain he was the last vehicle through the two intersections before turning down one street and pulling into a gas station.

“What? Why?”

“I’m not taking any chances that we’re being followed.”

“You saw someone?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Just make it fast and jump into that brown SUV.” He nodded toward the back of the station to a banged-up vehicle with tinted windows and zero chrome. The SUV was completely nondescript, the fenders and tires splattered with mud. “It belongs to a friend of mine,” Striker said. “He’s waiting. He’ll drive the truck.”

“This is nuts,” Randi muttered, but she unstrapped the baby seat and pulled it, along with Joshua, from the truck.

“I don’t think so.”

Quickly, as Randi did as she was told, Striker topped off his tank.

Eric was waiting for them. He’d been talking on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette, but spying Striker, tossed the cigarette into a puddle and gave a quick wave. Ending his call, he helped Randi load up, then traded places with Kurt. The entire exchange had taken less than a minute. Seconds after that, Kurt was in the driver’s seat of the Jeep, heading east again.

“I don’t think I can stand all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” Randi complained, and even in the darkness he saw the outline of her jaw, the slope of her cheek, the purse of those incredible lips. Good Lord, she was one helluva woman. Intriguingly beautiful, sexy as hell, smarter than she needed to be and endowed with a tongue sharp enough to cut through a strong man’s ego.

“Sure you can.”

“Whatever my brothers are paying you, it’s not enough.”

“That’s probably true.” He glanced at her once more, then turned his attention to the road. Night had fallen, but the rain had let up a bit. His tires sang on the wet pavement and the rumble of the SUV’s engine was smooth and steady. The baby was quiet in the back seat, and for the first time in years Kurt felt a little sensation of being with family. Which was ridiculous. The woman was a client, the child just part of the package. He told himself to remember that. No matter what else. He was her bodyguard. His job was to keep her alive and find out who was trying to kill her.

Nothing more.

What about the other night at the ranch? his damning mind taunted. Remember how much you wantedher, how you went about seducing her? How can youforget the thrill of slipping her robe off her shouldersand unveiling those incredible breasts. What about thelook of surprise and wonder in her eyes, or the soft, invitingcurve of her lips as you kissed the hollow of herthroat. Think about the raw need that drove you to untiethe belt at her waist. The robe gave way, the nightgownfollowed and she was naked aside from a slim goldchain and locket at her throat. You didn’t waste any timekicking off your jeans. You wanted her, Striker. Morethan you’ve ever wanted a woman in your life. Youwould have died to have her and you did, didn’t you?Over and over again. Feeling her heat surround you, listeningto the pounding of your heart and feeling yourblood sing through your veins. You were so hot andhard, nothing could have stopped you. What about then,when you gave in to temptation?

The back of his neck tightened as he remembered and his inner voice continued to taunt him.

If you can convince yourself that Randi McCaffertyis just another client, then you’re a bigger fool thanyou know.

* * *

It was late by the time the Jeep bounced along the rocky, mossy ruts that constituted the driveway to what could only be loosely called a cabin. Set deep in the forest and barricaded by a locked gate to which Kurt had miraculously had the key, the place was obviously deserted and had been for a long time. Randi shuddered inwardly as the Jeep’s headlights illuminated the sorry little bungalow. Tattered shades were drawn over the windows, rust was evident in the few downspouts that were still connected to the gutters, and the moss-covered roof sagged pitifully.

“You sure you don’t want to look for a Motel 6?” she asked. “Even a Motel 2 would be an improvement over this.”

“Not yet.” Kurt had already pulled on the emergency brake and cut the engine. “Think of it as rustic.”

“Right. Rustic. And quaint.” She shook her head.

“This used to be the gatekeeper’s house when this area was actively being logged,” he explained.

“And now?” She stepped out of the Jeep and her boots sank in the soggy loam of the forest floor.

“It’s been a while since the cabin’s been inhabited.”

“A long while, I’d guess. Come on, baby, it’s time to check out our new digs.” She hauled Joshua in his carrier up creaky porch steps as Kurt, with the aid of a flashlight and another key, opened a door that creaked as it swung inward.

Kurt tried a light switch. Nothing. Just a loud click. “Juice isn’t turned on, I guess.”

“Fabulous.”

He found a lantern and struck a match. Immediately the room was flooded with a soft golden glow that couldn’t hide the dust, cobwebs and general malaise of the place. The floor was scarred fir, the ceiling pine was stained where rainwater had seeped inside and it smelled of must and years of neglect.

“Home sweet home,” she cracked.

“For the time being.” But Kurt was already stalking through the small rooms, running his flashlight along the floor and ceiling. “We won’t have electricity, but we’ll manage.”