A Burning Obsession Read online

  “No, sir.” She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I just wanted to thank you for sending—”

  “—you to Europe? You’re interrupting my honeymoon to—”

  “Quinn.”

  “What?”

  “Maggie said she didn’t know you sent Jason Parker over here to check on me.”

  “That’s because I didn’t.”

  Kimberly’s gut clenched. Quinn might be upset about his interrupted honeymoon but likely that was all for show. Still, he wouldn’t lie to her.

  “You didn’t send Jason over to help me research those love scenes?”

  “I’m sorry, Kimberly. I’ve never heard of Jason Parker. I don’t know who the hell you’re making love to, but I hope you’re having a good time.”

  8

  JASON SHOWERED, then gathered his shaving kit, a toothbrush, and a change of clothes. He patted his pocket to make sure he had an ample supply of condoms before locking his hotel door and heading down a fight of stairs to Kimberly’s room. Barely refraining from whistling in happiness over thoughts of spending his first night with her, he’d ordered a surprise late-night snack from room service to sustain their strength and brought a bouquet of flowers.

  He couldn’t believe he was so eager to see her again after less than an hour’s separation, but he felt like a college kid on a fancy holiday. Juggling the bouquet, his travel kit and clothes, he knocked on her door and wiped the grin from his face. He didn’t want to appear overeager.

  “Kimberly. It’s me. Open up.”

  “Get the hell away from me.”

  He frowned at the closed door in total confusion. Genuine rage had broadcast through the door to blast him all the way in the hallway. “Kimberly?”

  “Don’t even try to pick that lock. I’ve blocked the door with a chest. You bust in, and I’ll call the local police and have you arrested.”

  “But you invited me.”

  “Now I’m uninviting you. Leave. Vamoose. Scram.”

  “Kimberly, darling—”

  “Don’t you ‘Kimberly darling’ me. Go back and crawl into whatever slimy hole you climbed out of.”

  What had happened in the last sixty minutes? Either the woman was schizoid—though until now she’d seemed quite sane to him—or she’d learned that he’d lied to her. Disappointment washed over him as he considered how he had messed up.

  It figured that when it really counted, when for the first time he really cared what a woman felt about him, he’d had to go and lie to her. Disappointment tangled with despair. Had he just lost her? And if so, what could he do to win her back?

  She’d come to mean much more to him than he’d expected. The sophisticated women he usually dated had a tough veneer that Kimberly didn’t have. He adored her enthusiasm, her intelligence, her passion for her work. And he loved when he could crack through her practical side to the passionate woman that she kept so carefully hidden from the rest of the world.

  No, he couldn’t lose her.

  Could she possibly have discovered he was really a thief on loan to the Shey Group? That his mission was to investigate the possibility that she was a spy? He didn’t think so—not unless she had powerful and well-connected contracts—which could mean she really was a spy.

  Damn. He didn’t want to believe in her guilt, especially after enjoying such a wonderful, almost magical afternoon. But what other explanation was there? The Shey Group hadn’t sent him mail or left any phone messages. He’d left no trail for her to follow back to him, had had no conversations she could have overheard.

  Working on a plan, Jason returned to his room, his thoughts scrambling to cover every angle. No way could he figure out the mystery without speaking to Kimberly. However, she’d sounded angry enough to stay miffed for a month. One clue gave him hope, if she believed a chest in front of her door would keep him out, she couldn’t possibly know what he did for a living.

  Opening his closet, he considered a multitude of options. Decisively, he stuffed his belongings into a backpack and changed into his working clothes, a black shirt, black pants, black rubber-soled boots and black gloves—but skipped his usual black mask. After slipping the backpack’s straps over his shoulders, he strode to his window, examined the lock and picked out the tools he would require.

  Opening his window, Jason slipped out onto the ledge. Usually he scouted every angle from the ground and the rooftop before he risked his neck. But there was no time, and when necessary he could plan while on the move. He looked down to chart his course, intending to remain in the darkest shadows. Heights had never bothered him, and normally he would have taken time to enjoy the view of the empty street. However, the anticipation of viewing the expression on Kimberly’s face when he came through her window had him taking shortcuts. He tied the rope to a doorknob, then swung out the window, rappelled down the building and landed lightly on her balcony.

  When he raised Kimberly’s fourth-floor window and slipped into her room, her eyes rounded in astonishment, then narrowed in rage. Her face, already white, went whiter. Her lower lip trembled, but then she lifted her chin and braced as if for battle. And when, with a smile, he pulled the slightly wilted bouquet out of his pocket and held it out to her, she slapped it from his hand, spilling the flowers to the floor.

  “You risked your life for nothing. I’m not impressed with your juvenile antics. Now leave.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  She glared at him. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  Her gaze slipped toward the phone.

  “We both know I won’t let you make a call.” He closed the window behind him, then leaned against the sill, propping his hip in the corner and folding his arms over his chest to prevent himself from doing something stupid—like reaching out to her.

  Clearly, she didn’t want his touch. Stiff with outrage, she practically oozed indignation. “I rather think you should be the one answering my questions. Like how the hell you read my script?”

  “Quinn—”

  “Has never heard of you.”

  Uh-oh. Jason was careful not to allow his expression to change. She must have spoken to Quinn. Which meant she still knew nothing about the Shey Group or his real identity—but she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just any old story now. She was too smart, too suspicious.

  Still, he felt a measure of relief in knowing she’d learned about his lie through ordinary means and not a contact in the spy community. Unless she was bluffing about speaking to Quinn.

  “You said Quinn couldn’t be reached by phone,” he challenged her.

  “They took a satellite phone with them.” It didn’t take her long to backtrack and put the missing pieces together. “You must have sneaked into my room—just like you always do—and gone through my things and read my script, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You going to tell me why?” Her eyes flashed her annoyance to cover a flicker of hurt. “And don’t you dare feed me any more of that I-saw-your-picture-and-wanted-to-meet-you crap.”

  “That part was true—except it wasn’t your picture I fell for, but the real thing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’d been secretly watching you for a full week before we ran into one another at the library.”

  “You were stalking me?”

  “Observing.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “I never meant to hurt you. And I did like the way you looked.”

  “Come on, I didn’t buy that story about your liking my looks the first time, I’m not going for it now.”

  “There’s an undeniable attraction between us. Surely, you feel it, too, or you would never have made love with me.”

  “Don’t talk to me about how I feel. I want facts.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you more, but seeing as how—”

  “You screwed up?”

  “—we made love—”

  She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “What’s th
at got to do with anything?”

  “—and I like you.”

  “Oh really? Do you usually stalk the women you like? Sneak into their rooms and read their private papers? Make love to them and lie about all of it?”

  “This is a first for me,” he admitted.

  “Sure it is.”

  She paced, her shoulders square, her chin high, but he’d have had to be obtuse to miss the air of vulnerability about her. All that energy contained, except for her quick steps to the wall, then back, never stopping, but nevertheless pinning him with a ferocious glare of affronted outrage.

  “Are you done yelling at me?” he asked, keeping his tone mild. She had every right to be angry, but no one could stay mad forever. And whenever her rage wore off, he intended to be right there waiting.

  She simply meant too much to him to give up. So he would stay and bear her anger, then try to pick up the pieces and clean up the mess he’d made.

  “I’m just stating the facts.”

  “At a high decibel,” he teased. A mistake. She fisted her hands, and he could almost feel her fighting with herself over whether or not to try to deck him.

  She didn’t resort to violence, but her words shot out cold and hard as bullets. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Fine. Then let me finish a sentence.”

  “Fine.”

  She glared at him, and if her scowl could have sliced and diced, he would have already lost a lot of blood. But at least she was talking to him, and now that he knew what had happened, he could deal with the problem.

  He considered several stories that he could have told her and discarded one after the other. He wanted her to know the truth because if there was any chance for them to make up, he had to lay his cards on the table. However, a good defense included a strong offense.

  He gave her the most startling fact first. “The U.S. government believes that you’re a spy.”

  “What?” Her indignation sounded real. In fact, he could plainly see that she didn’t believe him now that he was telling the truth—or part of it. He shouldn’t be doing this, but it was a measure of how much she’d come to mean to him that he was blowing his cover and his mission.

  He uncoiled his arms and held them out, palms up. “I didn’t believe them—”

  “Who?”

  “My orders are relayed through several channels, but I’d guess the original suspicion of you went from U.S. Customs straight to a low-level official in the Office of Homeland Security who checked with the CIA. They probably had a file on your parents and decided you needed to be watched. I shouldn’t be telling you this much but—”

  “But you have feelings for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How inconvenient for you.” She fisted her hands on her hips, her entire body shaking with fury. “And why should I believe anything you say?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  She sank onto the bed and rubbed her forehead.

  “Look, let’s deal with one subject at a time, okay? You work for the U.S. government? CIA?”

  He shook his head.

  “Office of Homeland Security? FBI?”

  “It’s unofficial and less direct.”

  “You’re British Intelligence?”

  “Look, I’m not supposed—”

  Her eyes shot a laser beam of angry heat at him. “But you’re not in the movie consultant business, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I need to know who you work for.”

  He raised an eyebrow, his suspicions back in full force. And yet contradictorily, he didn’t for one second believe in her guilt. “What difference does it make which organization I work for? Unless you need to block a leak?”

  “Very funny. Maybe I need to know which agency to sue,” she muttered sarcastically.

  “Now who’s lying?”

  “Whatever story you tell me this time is going to get checked out.”

  Now that was interesting. Was she implying that she had contacts within the FBI and CIA? “Tell me. How will you check me out?”

  “My parents worked for the agency. I keep in touch with a few of their former co-workers. Maybe that’s why…”

  “Why what?”

  She let out the words on the end of a long, disgusted sigh. “…the government suspects me of spying.”

  “I was told you raised their suspicions by smuggling rocks in your bra through customs.”

  “How ridiculous. That was to test the plot of my screenplay.”

  “Apparently U.S. Customs agents were not amused. These days they are edgy and don’t like being conned. Combine your little test with the fact that your parents…”

  “What about my parents?” She turned even whiter. “Those bastards!”

  “Who?” This she’d lost him. He didn’t understand this new anger.

  “My parents’ handlers at the agency tried to recruit me a week after their ‘accident.”’

  The way she sneered the word made him realize she didn’t believe the official version that they’d died in a simple scuba-diving accident.

  “When I said no thanks, the handler vowed I’d be sorry. I always thought the words were empty, a threat.”

  “Does the handler have a name?”

  “Brock Udell.”

  Jason took out his cell phone and called Logan Kincaid. “I need to find out if Brock Udell, a CIA agent, still works at the agency.”

  “Hold please.”

  Jason stepped over the flowers and held the phone up so she could hear Logan’s answer. He came back on the line within twenty seconds. “Brock Udell’s retired and living with his fourth wife in Arizona.”

  “Thanks. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “No problem. That’s what I’m here for.”

  Kimberly narrowed her gaze on his phone. “Who was that man?”

  “My boss.”

  “He has connections inside the CIA?”

  “Yeah.” Jason couldn’t keep lying to her and look himself in the mirror in the morning. He liked everything about Kimberly. How she faced adversity head-on. How her hair smelled and her skin tasted. How she gave herself fully when she made love. She deserved to know what she’d been accused of and who had sent Jason to watch her. “My boss’s name is Logan Kincaid.”

  “My parents told me about him. He wrote some special computer code for NSA or NASA. He’s supposed to be some kind of technical genius with former ties to the agency.”

  She seemed to know more about the man than he did. “Well, he runs the Shey Group. It’s a private organization hired—”

  “I’ve heard of them, too.”

  “Really?” She never ceased to astound him. Innocent Kimberly Hayward had a lot of dangerous knowledge behind her pretty green eyes.

  “My parents turned down an offer to work for the Shey Group.”

  “I wish I’d been so fortunate.”

  She lifted her head and stared at him. “Excuse me? Don’t you normally work for the Shey Group?”

  “I owed Logan Kincaid a favor. Watching you is how I’m paying back my debt. However, he is paying me, as well.”

  “Why don’t you sound happy about it?”

  “I’m used to working alone.”

  “In the movie consultant business?” she muttered sarcastically, her eyes drilling him with suspicion.

  He didn’t want to go there, but was determined to come clean—so to speak. “No, that was a cover set up by the Shey Group.”

  “So what do you really do?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She frowned at him. “You work on the other side of the law, don’t you?”

  So she’d guessed. Better for her to know the truth than to rev her imagination into overdrive. “I’m a jewel thief.”

  “A jewel thief.” She didn’t look especially surprised or horrified. She simply took in his black gear and for the first time since he’d entered the room, a corner of her mouth lifted. “Are you a good one?”

  “T
he best.”

  “And modest, too.”

  “You should probably know that I’m wanted on five continents. Thanks to the Shey Group’s cover, the heat is off me right now. However, if you called the police, they wouldn’t hesitate to arrest me.”

  She reached for the phone, pulled it onto her lap. “Maybe I’ll just make that call. Is there a reward for turning you in?”

  “Millions.” He allowed an amused smile to reach his lips but his heart battered his ribs.

  Don’t make the call. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

  He didn’t fear the police. He could be out the window and hitting the street before the cops took down her name and address. With two spare passports and plenty of cash, he could take the ferry to Holyhead, Wales, catch a train and cross into Scotland by morning and hop a freighter for the Orient before the cops got his picture on the evening news.

  Yet, he’d never prayed harder.

  Put down the phone.

  She hesitated, staring at him in obvious indecision. “Why do you owe Kincaid a favor?”

  “He’s the only man who’s ever caught me. And he didn’t turn me in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  At the knock at the door, he jumped. “Room service.”

  “I ordered us a snack.” Jason strode toward the door, shoved aside the chest and opened it. He tipped the bellhop and accepted the tray, then set it on the nightstand. Meanwhile her unanswered question hung between them.

  He really didn’t want to talk about his worst failure, but at least she was no longer shouting at him to get out of her room. Straddling a chair, he took a seat and faced her squarely. “I’d been planning a caper for six months. I had a buyer for the Star of Burma, a thirty-five-carat ruby mined in Thailand and smuggled out of Europe during World War II. The jewel was rare and in a private collection in Martinique. What I didn’t know was that the Shey Group had been hired to guard the owner’s art collection for the same weekend I’d planned the heist.”

  “Sounds like bad luck.”

  “Well, the theft went off without a hitch until I triggered a newly installed silent alarm—one the initial contractor whose plans I’d been using knew nothing about. Two Shey Group members followed me onto the rooftop to prevent my escape.”