Friction

“Thanks. Sage bought it. She said it was “me.” We’re headed for the beach today. You know, to hang out, maybe cook some hot dogs. E.J., why are you here?”

“Just stopped by to get my cell phone and saw our girl working as usual.”

Sarah glared at E.J., who, smiling, just popped on his Ray-Bans, then slid his arm around his date and, with a wave, headed for the door.

Ian turned to Sarah. “I think today was a day off for you, too, right? Time to relax and leave work at the office?”

There was a not-so-subtle tone of accusation in his voice.

“Hey, I was very mellow until that idiot started taking pictures of me for his Web site. I’m sorry they called you, though. It’s just a cut. I’m fine.”

“No problem. I want to know when anyone is hurt. But the point is you shouldn’t have been working, so I guess it was all incidental—it’s not like you’ve been tracking him or anything like that, right? You had no idea he would be there? It just…happened?”

She knew he knew better, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“All work and no play, Sarah…” Ian shook his head.

“Would you rather I’d let him go? Have you seen that Web site? He’s been at it for months, taking pictures up unsuspecting women’s skirts in the park, in the mall, but the beach photos were the worst. Virginia is one of the few states that actually have active laws on up-skirting, and I intend to put them to good use.”

To make sure she was getting her point across, she added, “Think about it, Ian. How would you feel if it were Sage’s parts put up on the screen for the enjoyment of the general public?”

Sarah knew she’d hit a nerve when something dangerous flickered in her boss’s eyes. Sage, Ian’s fiancée for several months now, was the center of his life. Sage had been a convicted felon serving out a five-year prison sentence, with Ian monitoring every detail of her life for the duration. They’d gotten together when Ian had been forming the team on the request of the department. E.J. and Sarah had been Ian’s backup when they’d gone after one badass computer hacker, a former lover of Sage’s who’d set her up to take the fall for a computer virus he’d created and unleashed.

It had made for an odd courtship, to say the least. Sage had almost lost her life helping them catch the hacker who had victimized her. When all was said and done, though, her record had been cleared, and for the last year she’d been busy establishing her own computer security agency. In the meantime, Ian was becoming impatient waiting to make Sage his wife.

But then he smiled. “You’re right, of course, but you do need to take a break. You’re going to burn out.”

“I feel fine.”

“I’ve been where you are, Sarah, and I had to learn the hard way that it isn’t worth it. All you do is work. You need more balance in your life.”

“I like to work.”

Ian glanced at the clock. “I’ve gotta get moving, but I’m serious. You’re working way too hard—” He held his hand up to stem the objection about to pop from her lips. “You’ve done a great job, I’m not complaining, but I want you to take a break. I’m granting you an immediate vacation—starting Monday.” He appeared to think about it for a second and spoke again, “No, starting as soon as you leave today. No work. Play only. Two weeks. It’s an order.”

Sarah had a hard time believing what she was hearing—he was forcing her to take a vacation? Wasn’t that against the constitution or something?

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want or need a vacation. You can’t dictate my free time. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself anyway, and I—”

“Exactly. That’s the problem. You don’t do anything but work. Sage and I went to a nice resort over in Cape Charles—it’s small, more like an inn, and it’s close. You can get there easily. I’ll make the arrangements and all you have to do is show up on Monday. And no laptop. In fact, you can leave it here. With me.” He shot her an evil grin. “And they don’t allow cell phones at the resort. Or PDAs. Just so you know. If they find them, they’ll ask you to store them in their office until you leave, so as not to disrupt the other guests.”

Sarah felt the color drain from her face.

“No, Ian, please, I—”

“You’re going. Either that or you’re enrolling in the stress relief program that they’re starting up this week. Make your choice.”

Sarah felt her breath come up short—how could he? The stress relief program was a nightmare—everyone was doing whatever they could to avoid it—six weeks of deep breathing and sharing your feelings. God. It was a numbers game, she told herself. Two weeks of torture was better than six.

“Fine. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll go.”

Her voice was tight and unhappy, and Ian chuckled, shaking his head and turning away. “Sarah, I want you to enjoy life a little. I want you to relax, have fun. Maybe you’ll even like it.”

Sarah fell back in her chair, the ache in her leg throbbing more insistently as she grumbled to herself about her predicament. Vacation? No computer? No cell phone? No work?

And here she’d thought Ian liked her.

LOGAN SULLIVAN paused for a moment on the steps leading up to the broad wraparound porch that hugged the sides of the Chesapeake Inn. He felt as though he was walking into one of those old plantation-style mansions he’d seen in the movies. Colorful flowers and ivies grew everywhere, and large fig trees sprawled in the side yard. Wicker furniture was placed strategically around the large porch, some chairs grouped together if guests wanted to socialize, others tucked away in corners if they wanted to relax solo.

Not fifty yards away the Chesapeake Bay stretched out before him. The water was calm today. The Eastern Shore was a stretch of sand only a bit more than a mile wide, the Bay on one side and the ocean on the other. The little town of Cape Charles was at the southern base of the shore, its tip at the mouth of the Bay. The city of Norfolk, part of the area known as Hampton Roads, formed the other side.

Logan was familiar with the area, having lived in Maryland his entire life. It was a marvelous place for a vacation, and in his loose khaki shorts, white T-shirt and worn leather sandals, he looked every bit the vacationer—which was how he wanted it. However, vacationing was the last thing on his mind.

Hefting his bags up the stairs, he opened the door and walked in, the air-conditioning hitting him like a wave. Though the hot weather didn’t bother him at all, he still found the coolness refreshing. And the heat here was different, nothing like the suffocating heat he’d gotten used to in Baltimore. Here the air was clear and a soft breeze came in off the water, stirring the leaves on the trees. It was pleasant.

A cheerful woman—a slim blonde who was, he guessed, in her late fifties—rounded the corner, her face the very definition of welcome. She reminded him a bit of his mother, or his childhood memories of her.

“Hello! I’m Karen Sanders. You must be Mr. Sullivan. Welcome to the Chesapeake Inn. Are these all your bags?”

Logan smiled. It was impossible not to, her friendliness made him feel at home. “No, I have more in the car, but I’ll get them. This is a gorgeous place you have. Is this all work from local artists?” He stepped forward, looking at some of the pencil sketches, metal sculptures, and several watercolors capturing sunsets over the Bay and other coastal scenes.

“Yes, we only feature local art, and most of these are for sale, so let me know if there is anything you are particularly interested in. The Shore has a very interesting and varied history, you know. There are several tours you can take, but much of the art tells the story as well.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about it.”

“Let me get you registered and show you to your room. We have a number of brochures that outline some tours and destinations that might interest you. We also provide equipment, kayaks and canoes, crabbing supplies and other things to keep you busy. Or you can just be quiet and relax, if that’s your pleasure.”

Logan nodded, knowing he would have to partake in at least some of the activities she discussed—he had to keep up appearances. Picking up his bags, he started to follow the woman past the large spiral staircase into the main room, where he could see the antique cherry registration desk, behind which was located a small office, discreetly hidden from view.

No one else was around; the other guests were probably out enjoying themselves. But before they could take more than a few steps the door opened again, and they both turned around to look.

Logan’s mind went blank when he saw the woman who stepped inside. Tall, almost as tall as he was at six foot two, she was breathtaking—and strong, carrying two huge suitcases as though they were nothing. He observed the smooth, supple muscles in her upper arms and raised an eyebrow. Her short hair was a little spiky at the top, an interesting contrast that accentuated her fine, classic features.

She wore large, dark sunglasses perched on a perfectly shaped nose, so he couldn’t see her eyes, but it was her mouth that fascinated him. Lipstick-free, not too full, her lips looked sweet and soft enough to eat, coming together in a natural pout that had him wetting his own lips as if in anticipation of a taste.

When their hostess moved past him to launch into her welcome routine, the woman pulled her sunglasses off and Logan was mesmerized by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. A small smile warmed the woman’s cool features as she held out her hand to the hostess.

“Hi, I’m Sarah Jessup. I’m sorry I’m here a little early, but I didn’t know how long the drive would take. I hope it isn’t any trouble.” She looked at Logan, and then back to the hostess. “If you’re busy, I can walk down to the beach or catch some lunch.”

“Oh, no, no, dear, you’re fine. Come on in, and we can get you and Mr. Sullivan all situated. It’s nice for guests to meet each other, as you all will bump into each other during your stay. I do believe you and Mr. Sullivan are both scheduled for extended visits—two weeks, is that right?”

She looked questioningly at him, and he confirmed her claim with a short nod. The new arrival also looked back at him, then stepped forward and held out her hand.

“Well, then, hello, Mr. Sullivan. I’m Sarah.”

Her voice was clear and pleasant, and he detected a strong northern accent—pure New York City. It sounded good on her. She was a tough cookie, he’d bet. And a delicious one, too. He smiled.

“Logan, please. Nice to meet you.”