looked at her blankly.
“Remember, the package coming in to Westchester Airport?” Cara said. “The job you aren’t going to get to for a decade? Subject of a conversation we had two days ago?”
“Right, right,” Annie said. She had put her hair back into a ponytail while they were working, but now she pulled it free, and it swung down around her shoulders. She sat down on one of the wooden stools that were scattered throughout the lab. “MacLeish, when’s the last time we took a vacation?”
Cara pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and frowned. “You mean, like a trip to Easter Island and two weeks of crashing through the underbrush and staring at giant rock heads from some distant, ancient culture? Or are you talking about Thanksgiving at the parents’ house? Or do you mean Club Med—lying on the beach in bikinis while handsome men bring us daiquiris and margaritas?”
“I mean Club Med. I definitely mean Club Med.”
Cara chewed her lip as she thought hard. “I’ve worked for you for…how long now?”
“Forever,” Annie answered.
“Right. And the last time we took a vacation was…Never?”
“That decides it,” Annie said. “We need a vacation. When we’re through with what we’ve got—when’s that gonna be?”
Cara shrugged. “End of December, beginning of January?”
“We’re taking January off,” Annie said. “Don’t accept any more work unless the clients can wait until February for us to start the project.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Cara said to the ceiling. “Club Med, here we come! Bless you, master!”
Annie stood up. “Back to work, slave,” she said. “I’m heading for the airport.”
She quickly ran upstairs and grabbed her jacket and car keys. “See you later,” she called out to Cara as she ran lightly down the stairs.
Outside, the air was crisp and cold, and she buttoned her jacket, thinking it was time to dig her scarf out of her closet—
Pete Taylor was standing next to her car.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She looked at him blankly.
“I’m your bodyguard,” he said patiently. “That means when you go someplace, I go, too.”
Annie closed her eyes. Please, God, she thought, when I open my eyes, make him be gone. Make this all just be a bad dream….
He was still there. Damn, damn, damn.
“I’ll drive if you want,” he said.
“I like to drive,” Annie said. But her car was piled high with books and papers and empty seltzer cans. And his car was a sporty little Mazda Miata…. Her eyes slid toward his shiny black car.
“We can take mine if you want,” Pete said, as if he could read her mind. He held out the keys. “You can drive.”
Slowly she reached for them. “What’s the deal? Is it rented?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said with one of his rare smiles.
“You’d trust me…?” Annie asked.
“You’re trusting me with your life,” Pete said. “I’ll trust you with my car.”
Annie got in behind the steering wheel and adjusted the mirrors. She didn’t realize just how little the car was until Pete got in and nearly sat down on top of her. He was so close, they were practically touching. Maybe they should’ve taken her car instead….
She turned the key and the engine hummed.
“I faxed the FBI your transcript of that phone call,” he said.
“Oh, great,” Annie said sourly. “I’ll bet they get a good laugh out of that.” She eased the sports car out of the driveway, feeling the power in the engine.
“They’re checking a number of different leads,” Pete said, ignoring her sarcastic comment. “There are a couple of radical groups who have already lodged ownership claims to Stands Against the Storm’s death mask. And another group has sent a formal complaint, claiming it should be returned to the Navaho people in New Mexico.”
“Don’t tell me. None of those groups is actually connected to the Navaho,” Annie said, glancing at him, already knowing the answer.
“You’re right.” A white flash of teeth made her turn quickly back to the road. His smile was a killer. It was a good thing he didn’t do it more often. “The Navaho don’t want anything to do with the death mask. As far as they’re concerned, they were happier with Stands Against the Storm’s bad spirit safely across the Atlantic Ocean in England.”
“How do you feel about it?” Annie asked. “Having the death mask in the house?”
She risked another look at him. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were lit with humor.
“You don’t really think it would bother me, do you?” he said.
“You are at least part Navaho,” Annie said. “Aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Half. Is it that obvious?”
“Actually, no. But your necklace gave you away. It’s so valuable. I figured it must have sentimental value to it, that it must be an heirloom and that’s why you wear it. Because if you were just a collector, you’d keep it locked in a case.”
“My grandfather gave it to me,” Pete said. “His grandfather made it. My great-grandfather made the ring and the belt buckle. They were all made to be worn—not locked away.”
She glanced at him again. When she met his gaze, she felt a jolt of warmth that was different from the attraction that always seemed to simmer between them. This was friendly and comfortable. Oh, brother, she was actually starting to like this guy.
She pushed the Miata up to seventy.
“So what do you think?” she asked. “Who’s really after this death mask? If it’s not the Navaho…”
Pete shrugged. “Maybe the FBI’s right and it’s one of these radical Friends of the Native Americans groups.”
“But you don’t think so.” She glanced over at him. He was watching her, his eyes warm. What would he do, she wondered suddenly, if she reached over and took his hand?
He’d assume she’d fallen for him—the way every woman who’d ever crossed his path had no doubt done. But she didn’t want to be just another notch on his belt. No way. If she was going to be stupid enough to fall in love with this man, she was going to make damn sure he fell in love with her, too.
Something told her she’d better work fast. She already liked him, and Lord knows she was attracted to him. Her heart was ready for some bungee jumping.
