That had been a complete surprise.
“Are you asking me if I’m the receptionist?” she asked, settling her hands on the counter. Her hip, the one he swore he could still feel the imprint of against his fingers, tilted slightly to the side.
“I guess I was.”
A brief smile canted her mouth. “No. I’m not the receptionist.”
“Nurse?”
Her smile deepened. “Wrong again.”
He frowned, then lifted his eyebrows as if surprised. “You’re the town doctor?”
“And would you believe it? I went to school and everything,” she countered. An interesting light flashed in her gold-green eyes that matched the sass in her voice.
He grinned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’m just a little tired this morning.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re going to have to excuse me. I really need to get ready for work.”
“How about you let me buy you lunch?” he asked quickly. Whether his invitation stemmed from his need to solve the case or something more interesting he had no intention of pursuing, he couldn’t say. He opted for case related. “It’s the least I could do since I woke you up to use your phone.”
She let out a puff of breath and padded across the bare floor to the door. “That’s not necessary,” she said, swinging it open in a silent, but pointed, invitation for him to get out.
“I insist,” he pushed, walking toward her. “I feel bad about waking you.”
She looked away as he passed in front of her. He stepped onto the front porch and turned around, his hopes climbing a notch at the regret in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I have to work.”
“You get a lunch break, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m really busy today. But thank you anyway.” She let the door swing closed. The rattle of the safety chain told him she wouldn’t be changing her mind anytime soon.
He let out a frustrated stream of breath. The morning hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d managed to get the transmitters placed in her telephone. All incoming or outgoing calls from that telephone would be recorded. While any information he learned would be inadmissible, he couldn’t risk a leak, which was a real possibility if he attempted the legal route by obtaining a court ordered tap. She didn’t own a cellular telephone, but she did have a beeper. He also hadn’t been able to determine whether or not she had another extension in her bedroom.
He reined in the baser thoughts that readily flowed through his mind when he considered the means by which to gain entrance to Dr. Romine’s bedroom.
Shoving his hand through his hair, he stepped off her porch into the bright morning sunlight and headed across the small concrete courtyard bordered with overgrown, neglected foliage to the stairs leading up to his apartment. He’d stretched the boundaries of the law before to suit his own ends and he wasn’t above doing so now. When it came to tracking down those on the FBI’s most wanted list, he wouldn’t hesitate to stretch the rules to the point of breaking. Every now and then, he’d even managed a few stress cracks, but never had he ever completely ignored the laws he’d sworn to uphold. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy a challenge, and the Romine case definitely qualified.
Except Chase Bend-the-Rules Bracken had a problem. A problem that consisted of his body’s reaction to his only lead in the case he had to solve, or he’d be donating his dark blue suits to the Goodwill.
With a sigh of self-disgust, he walked into his apartment and headed straight for the locked spare bedroom. He flipped on the light and crossed the room, ignoring the high-powered scope set up near the window. Without bothering to sit, he leaned over and punched a series of keys on the computer keyboard. In the recorder next to him, surveillance tapes whirred to life then paused until triggered by the subject’s telephone. The red lights on the recording devices glowed.
He was ready, in the preliminary sense. If Jared Romine contacted his sister by telephone, Chase would know about it. His gut told him the rogue agent wouldn’t be so careless; it wasn’t Romine’s style considering he’d been underground for almost three years without so much as a hint to his whereabouts. The Bureau knew that somehow Romine maintained contact with his sister. Chase needed to determine exactly how the murdering agent did it. Then and only then would he be able to track the suspect down.
He arrogantly figured within two weeks he’d know everything he needed to finally apprehend Jared Romine.
A slow smile spread across his face. He wouldn’t uncover the information by using any of the high-tech surveillance equipment lining the walls of the spare bedroom. He’d learn it the old-fashioned way, by interrogating the suspect’s sister, in ways Chase was positive would never be found in any reference manual.
LONG HOURS WEREN’T NEW to Dee. Nor were shifts that extended long beyond her scheduled twelve hours. She learned to survive the grueling pace by napping whenever possible and drinking as much strong black coffee as her stomach lining could tolerate.
After the weekend she’d spent at the county hospital, followed by the fourteen-hour labor and delivery of Erma Dalton’s sixth child, she should be exhausted, but serving her internship in a busy Los Angeles emergency room two years ago had conditioned her for the endless hours young physicians often handled in the beginning of their careers.
Every other weekend she served as an E.R. resident at the Berkeley County Hospital, but this past weekend had been particularly rough as she’d had to pull a double shift to cover for a colleague away on holiday. After that, she only had a four-hour break before starting her own second shift of the weekend. Sneaking what little sleep she could manage during the occasional lull, she’d made it through the roughest forty-eight hours she could remember since her early intern days. Her plans to sleep until noon, however, had been effectively derailed by her new upstairs neighbor.
Her very handsome and sexy new upstairs neighbor, with wavy black hair, eyes such an interesting shade of blue they looked almost lilac. Add in the sweet musky scent that clung to his skin, and her dormant feminine instincts had awakened from slumber.
Just what she didn’t need. Or want.
At first she’d tried to write off her physical reaction to the newcomer as nothing more than sheer exhaustion. So what if she’d experienced an accompanying thrum of anticipation when she’d first looked into his intense gaze. She’d had an extraordinarily busy weekend and probably only slept seven out of the last sixty hours. As dog-tired as she’d been, was it so unusual for her to feel a rush of longing when a tall, gorgeous stranger asked to borrow her phone?
For her, yes. He made her uneasy, in a man/woman, sexual desires running in high gear sort of way. As far as explanations went, she couldn’t find one worthy enough to rationalize the way her heart had ricocheted around in her chest when he’d laid his hand on her hip as he squeezed past her in the kitchen, or the way her thighs had tingled when he’d brushed against her.
No doubt about it. Coach Bracken made her hot.
Too bad a cool shower, followed
