Unfair Advantage

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





Ashlyn woke the next morning before seven, climbed from the bed, and silently dressed. Leaving the man in her bed slumbering, she crept through her own home like a thief. With an economy of sound and movement, she nuked a cup of tea and fled to the back deck. Rather that risk a squeak, she left the door propped open.



What the hell had happened? He appears in the alley behind her shop, unannounced, uninvited. What does she do? Send him packing? No. She threw her legs around him like a sex-crazed teenager.



Now she was stuck. Trapped. Doing the walk of shame in her own house!



Ashlyn shook her head, hid in her mug, and wondered what had possessed her.



She heard the deck creak softly.



“Good morning.” He sounded sleepy.



Ashlyn gathered her courage and turned. Seeing the jeans dipping on his slim hips, lean elegant muscling of his shirtless upper body, and his tousled hair, she remember exactly why she’d tumbled into the sack with him. He had this sexy boyish quality that spoke directly to her sexuality, while whispering to her maternal instincts.



All the muscle-bound super jocks she’d slept with had provided orgasmic entertainment. This man dealt in sensuality that went beyond the fabulous climaxes he had given her.



“Do you prefer bacon or sausage for breakfast, detective?”



“I know what I’d rather have,” replied.



Ashlyn went to him, slipped two fingers past the waistband of his jeans and tugged him close. “You can have that, too.”







Dani woke alone. Sort of. Roarke had let Buddy out of his crate and the puppy stretched his ever-increasing length down the bed. She crawled from under the sheet and duvet, brushed her teeth, had a snappy shower and dressed in a white tank and white boxer shorts. Then she wandered out into the hall and followed the smell of something yummy.



Roarke stood in the kitchen sizzling a thick steak in the iron skillet that came with the cabin. Bare-chested, wearing jeans and boots, he half-turned. “I ran into town early this morning. Not much use in the kitchen, but steak and eggs I can manage.”



Her stomach growled. “I’m starved.”



“I would have made coffee, except I like yours better.”



She smiled. “That I can manage.”



After breakfast they had coffee on the porch. Buddy chased a squirrel along the lake until it zipped toward the trees and climbed up and out of sight. Mist clung stubbornly at the far shore where morning sun could not yet reach.



Dan sipped her coffee, pondered the many unexpected turns that brought her to this moment.



“I see why you picked this place,” he said.



She turned her gaze to him. It still took her by surprise sometimes, his striking cranberry eyes and Viking features. She wondered if she should read hidden meanings into his statement. "It\'s beautiful and quiet."



"Isolated, too."



"You\'ve switched into cop mode," she observed.



"Just trying to get a feel for what it was like."



How could she explain? "Imagine being struck by lightning, and when you wake up every aspect of the world has changed in some way. The biggest things, your vocation, your self-image, all your plans and dreams and \'somedays\' have vanished."



Roarke appeared to give that quiet consideration. "After what it required to recover from that it\'s little wonder you didn\'t want to risk more change."



Dani had already lowered many of her barriers. Still, her cultivated sense of reservation proved a tough habit to kick. "This is difficult for me."



"You open up to me in bed."



Dani replied honestly. "Hate to burst your bubble there, detective. I\'m wired a little different from most women. I can totally separate orgasms form intimacy."



He laughed. "I stand corrected."



However," she allowed, coaxed by his humor, "you do have a talent for stripping my defenses away with an economy of effort."



"That\'s a good start." He held out his big dark hand.



Dani reached out and took it.



Nothing came through but his warmth.







Mayan spent the night in a hotel in midtown paid for by NYPD. Detective Daniels had stayed with her as the FBI questioned. She had declined an attorney, answered every question with painful, if cleansing candor. When they finally finished for the night, Detective Daniels had driven her here and taken a room on one side of hers while two Federal agents occupied the one on the other side.



She wondered a bit about that - Daniels\' staying close - decided it pertained to others\' perception of their established rapport.



A female officer had purchased toiletries, nightgown, underthings and a change of clothes for the next day. Mayan slept like the dead, then rose to a clear sunny Manhattan autumn day.



She showered, put on the plain white bra and panties, stiff new jeans and blue tee shirt. Sliding her feet into the thongs she\'d taken from the beach house, she sat on the bed\'s edge. Mayan called Detective Wesley\'s room as arranged. He knocked on her door moments later.



Mayan liked him. He made her feel she had nothing to hide.



Better yet, no reason to feel ashamed.







Ashlyn loaded the dishwasher. She listened as Tim made several phone calls. A young man involved somehow with the case in Manhattan remained in Denver. From what she gathered FBI agents had him in protective custody.



Tim spoke with a sort of casual professionalism until, "Captain, I said I\'d take the kid. He\'s been through hell. I don\'t want him hussled through child services because he\'s a minor. For God\'s sake, he\'ll turn eighteen in a year and a half. Taken with his inheritance and the trust he receives at that time, we can get emancipation."



She smiled. Her lover\'s big heart doubled his attractiveness. She went to her bathroom, ran a hot bath, stripped off her chemise and stepped in. A bit later, Tim rapped lightly on the half open door.



"Come in. There\'s plenty of room if you care to join me," she called. To herself she thought of the big house, her expanding business, and decided the statement carried over into her life.







Brand\'s B&B room proved large, airy and furnished with an admirable fortune in early Colonial period antiques. He\'d stopped on the way, purchased a half gallon of Stolichnya and a crystal rock glass from an upscale liquor store. Settling his lap top on the hand-crafted desk, he then carried his three suitcases to the walk-in closet.



He left them standing upright, used his ghost cell to arrange a pickup from a very expensive service for the following morning. Tonight he would have his vodka, triage items from the cases and decide what he required right now. Anything not needed for the present, he could either send with the service or FedEx to the next hotel of his choosing.



For a few days he would lie low.



Relax among turmoil.



And, put himself close to his intended mark.







Mayan settled in to spend a second night in the small motel. Detective Daniels knocked on the door, called, “It’s me, Miss Laroux.”



She let him in. The smell of grilled meat and fresh bread wafted from two white takeout bags. She hadn’t eaten all day. Her stomach growled.



“Apologies in advance. Everything around here seemed a little below your standards, Miss Laroux.”



Mayan moved a newspaper from the small dinette table. “Anything’s fine. Thank you.”



He placed one of the bags on the table, turned to go. A curious disappointment filled her. “You’re not eating with me?”



Under his tanned skin the detective colored slightly. He met her gaze with those frank, honest eyes. “Wouldn’t look good now. If you’ll give me a rain check good for when this business is finished, we’ll make an occasion of it.”



She smiled. A spark of hope lit her heart. “May I have your word on that?”



“Yes, ma’am.”



After he closed the door behind him she opened the bag. It held a small bottle of Perrier, napkins, plastic fork and knife, a salad in a clear container and something wrapped in wax paper. Inside the wrapper she found grilled chicken and tabouleh on fresh flatbread.



As she ate she considered his thoughtful choices, looked forward to putting this all behind her.





Roarke couldn’t sleep.



He laid awake watching Dani. Her head pillowed on his upper arm, she slumbered. Somewhere there must be a lost statue of Helen. The face that launched a thousand ships. It’s delicate carvings would echo Dani’s.



Roarke realized in that moment he’d begun to fall hard in love.







Brand sat on the balcony of his B&B suite, drank Stoli and considered the best way to kill Danielle Richards.