Sea of Suspicion Page 5

  Yep. This was just his luck. Mutual attraction with the one woman he couldn’t have. Nick rubbed the back of his neck as blood diverted from his brain.

  “I’m calling a cab,” she said with a frown. “I think I drank too much wine.”

  There was a hint of vulnerability in her voice and from what he’d seen, Susie Cooper didn’t like to be out of control. That made tonight the perfect opportunity, maybe the only opportunity, to get what he wanted.

  The familiar feeling of guilt settled into his gut.

  “I’ll drive you home in your car if you like, and get a taxi back to town,” he offered.

  “Good idea.” Dougie wrapped his arm around Susie’s shoulder with a salacious grin designed to make Nick jealous.

  Susie shook her head and Mickey Mouse’s ears jiggled. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not putting me out. I live to serve, remember?” Nick willed her to look at him, to hold his gaze for more than a ricochet glance. He held his breath as her chin finally came up and her head tilted. Her eyes turned a darker blue. But in the depths, where her soul gathered, she was wary of him the way women were instinctively wary of dangerous men.

  Smart girl.

  “Susie, I’m getting a cab home anyway, at least this way you’ll have your car at home. It’s no trouble. I’ve got a Sunday league soccer game in the morning.” He glanced at Dougie, who was also playing in their team, and made a big show of checking his watch—as if he didn’t stay up ’til dawn on a regular basis. “And it’s late.”

  Sex would be good.

  That thought had been lurking in the shadows all evening. At least God had a sense of humor.

  “Grab your stuff, Susie Q. I’ll give you a ride home.” And with a narrow-eyed look at his smirking friend, he went to give Leanne the biggest thank-you kiss in the history of dinner parties.

  Stashing her purse at her feet, Susie sank into the black leather upholstery and regretted buying such a small car.

  Her head was spinning from too much wine and something far more primitive. She recognized the signs. She was attracted to the looks, the body, the attitude—her last boyfriend had been the same and he’d completely screwed her over.

  Broken hearts.

  That’s what she and Dela had been recovering from when they’d taken off to the Fraser coast. She blinked as memories overwhelmed her. Water teeming with fish in a sea so blue it dazzled like a billion sapphires. The hull of a scuttled ship coming into focus. Turning to smile at Dela, to share the wonder, only to see her friend kicking for the surface—too fast, too fast, too fast!

  She wrenched her eyes open. Dela was dead and Susie had gotten the bends trying to save her.

  Nick eased his length into the driver’s seat, the heat from his thighs radiating across the thin whisper of space. She cracked a window trying to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. Nick turned the ignition key and they got blasted by Sheryl Crow’s “If It Makes You Happy.”

  He lowered the volume.

  “I should just stay the night.” She looked longingly at Leanne’s front door and suddenly the breath was squeezed from her chest as her seatbelt cut into her sternum. The car jerked to a halt.

  “Susie…” Nick turned and stared at her with those dark eyes, the engine running with a noisy purr. Her mouth went dry as her heart forced blood through suddenly fiery veins. “I’m a police officer. I promise to get you home in one piece and completely untouched unless you want it otherwise.” His voice was melted butter, rich and ultimately bad for her health.

  “Promise?”

  She had no intention of acting on the attraction pulsing neon-bright between them, but she knew she needed to get away from Nick Archer before the effects of alcohol outcompeted good old-fashioned common sense.

  His fingers flexed around the tiny steering wheel. “If that’s what you want.”

  “That is exactly what I want.”

  One side of his mouth bent into a crooked smile that didn’t exactly look trustworthy, but he put the car in gear, headed along the narrow lane that led toward the main road. RAF Leuchars glittered in the distance, reflecting off the River Eden which glistened like tar in the moonless, starless night.

  “So.” He shot her a quick look. “You like Sheryl Crow?”

  Susie appreciated his effort at civilized conversation even if she didn’t think they were going to get very far. “And you like the Rolling Stones.”

  “My dad played them when I was a little kid.” Nick shut up, as if he’d already said too much.

  Mr. Loquacious.

  “Where’s your dad now?” Susie gripped her seatbelt, a little nervous about the way they whizzed around a particularly curvaceous bend.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I’m sorry.” She always seemed to say the wrong thing to him. He put her on edge and she went from sophisticated university professor to gauche single female in an instant.

  Susie tried again. “For some reason I like angry, cynical female singer-songwriters.”

  “All-men-are-bastards-who’ll-do-anything-for-a-quick-shag-and-then-dump-you-for-your-best-friend sort of stuff?” Nick’s expression was serious. “I can’t see a woman like you taking crap like that.”

  “Ah, but you don’t know anything about a woman like me.” She kept the bitterness off her tongue. Nick wasn’t one of her failed past relationships and she intended to keep it that way.

  He took a sharp left-hand bend and her thigh brushed his, setting off fireworks in all the wrong places. Striving to put out those flames, she hit on the one topic he really didn’t want to discuss. “I am sorry about your wife.”

  Susie actually felt the mental door slam tight. Even the air turned icy and she boosted the heat just to have something to do with her hands.

  He surprised her when he replied. “Everyone said we were crazy getting married so young. I guess they were right, weren’t they?” The cold words belied the look of guarded pain that flickered in his eyes.

  She didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.

  St. Andrews was a blur. They went through the Westport and along South Street, heading past the Gatty on the way out of town. Mist rolled off the waves like a cloak hugging the bay.

  “How do you know where I live?” she asked suddenly. She hadn’t told him.

  “Lily pointed it out yesterday.” He shot her a weird glance. “You actually thought me and Lily were seeing each other?”

  Susie bit the inside of her cheek. “It seemed logical.” She shifted in her seat. “Lily told me she had a hot date, then ran outside and flung herself at you.” She glowered defiantly at her distorted reflection in the glass.

  “Everything is a hot date to Lily.” He grinned, obviously at ease talking about Lily Heathcote as opposed to her dead sister. “She’s a good kid.” He gave a shudder. “And I’m old enough to be her father.”

  Susie flinched.

  “We went to visit her mother.” His sideways smile was full of self-mockery but sexy all the same.

  Dammit. She had a hunch everything about Nick Archer looked sexy, with or without imbibing a bottle of Merlot.

  “Emily told me all about you, Dr. Cooper.”

  Lily’s mother had befriended her over the past month, but Emily’s smiles never quite reached her eyes. The skin of her face crinkled, her lips angled upward, but the light inside never seemed to brighten. Now Susie understood why—the loss of a child. She gripped the seat, the combination of wine and speed making her head spin.

  “Are you all right?” Nick asked, turning down the bumpy lane toward her home. Susie nodded as she blew out a steadying breath.

  They turned into her drive and a security light flooded the gravel yard, revealing the beautiful old stone cottage flanked by patches of heather and herbs.

  Home. Thank God.

  Grabbing her purse, she shoved open the door before they’d stopped. Dormant wheat fields stretched behind the cottage, which bordered a golf c
ourse. Emily and Lily’s cottage topped a low rise three hundred yards away, tall hedges giving both houses seclusion and privacy.

  Nick stood beside the car door, one foot on the sill, hands on the roof, looking delicious. His eyes darkened as they met hers. “Still want me to call a taxi?”

  The air between them crackled with possibility, but Susie nodded. She wasn’t some easy lay for a stranger. She needed to believe she was worth more than that.

  “Can I at least walk you to your door?”

  Susie looked over to the French doors twenty yards away up three uneven stone slabs. Nick’s request was a baited trap, but he wasn’t that irresistible. She nodded.

  Fog billowed along the lilac hedge that marked her property, enfolding them in a soft mystical silence. He fell into step beside her and handed her the key fob. She moved ahead up the steps, brushing an old lavender bush that released its fragrance through the night air. Fumbling, she dropped her keys and Nick bent to retrieve them before she had chance.

  “Nice place,” he commented. “Secluded. Wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting the neighbors with loud music or screaming sex.”

  Her skin sizzled and every sense felt electrified as if someone had plugged her in and flipped a switch. Her eyes widened, her chest tightened. This was dangerous. She was too aware of him, too interested in the idea of screaming sex, and too damn drunk to run as fast as she should.

  And he knew it.

  She pressed back against her door, her shoulder blades drawn up tight together. Nick slipped the key into the lock and took a step forward, bringing him close enough to touch if she so much as took a breath. So she didn’t. The lock clicked and he took a step back with a grave expression on his face.

  “I’d kiss you goodnight if you didn’t look so scared,” he said softly.

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Good.” His eyes sparkled as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Mistake! Her mind screamed but it was too late. The breath whooshed out of her as he pressed the gentlest kiss to her lips—as fine a sensation as the stroke of a feather across sensitive skin. And the world stopped. Then every sense climbed to high alert as he took a half step closer, the bulk of his shoulders blocking the wind, and heat coming off his body like rays from the sun. He smelled spicy and male, the leather of his jacket creaking as he shifted his stance. He took her by surprise as he slipped one hand beneath her coat, resting it possessively on her hipbone. Startled, she opened her eyes.

  But he kissed her again, this time less gently. Sliding his hand to the base of her spine, the burning impression of each finger pressing through the cotton of her T-shirt, brushing bare skin. His lips were teasing and coaxing, not what she expected from a man who screamed danger. Her palms braced against the muscles in his chest, but they weren’t exactly beating him off. He eased her toward him, enticed a trembling response from her body, but all of a sudden he jerked away and stuck his hand in his pocket.

  “Bloody hell.” He pulled out a cell phone, adjusting it to read the display in the poor light. Swearing, he looked at her with an apology in his eyes. And regret. Because she was a sure thing. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You’re on call?” Susie couldn’t believe the disappointment in her voice. Go! Please go.

  His smile was a slash of white. “Criminals always know when I have a night off.” His eyes slid to her car. “Can I borrow your Mini?” He gripped the back of his neck, looking up at her from under heavy brows. “I’ll get it back to you before morning.”

  “Take it.” Susie wouldn’t be accused of getting in the way of law and order, plus it would get him away from her faster. Next time she saw him she’d be sober and prepared. “I’m not planning on going anywhere tomorrow so there’s no rush to drop it off.”

  She opened the front door, pulled the keys out of the lock and twisted off the ignition key from her octopus key fob.

  “Here.” She threw it to him, not surprised when he snatched it out of the air without even moving his gaze. His intensity was unsettling.

  “Susie…I’m sorry.”

  She dashed inside and closed the door. Locked it. He could have her car, no problem. But he couldn’t have her. She wanted a relationship, a future, a family. Nick Archer was a lousy bet for anything except orgasms and heartbreak, and not even the orgasms were guaranteed.

  Tracy shrugged into her fleece and hitched her canvas bag over one shoulder, pulling her hair free of the strap. The lab was empty tonight. The night-watchman had done his first set of rounds and gone on to the next building with a terse reminder to turn off the lights when she left. She pulled a face. He gave her the creeps with his beady little eyes and smelly flat-cap.

  Her footsteps echoed as she walked the quiet corridors. After turning off the lights, it was dark and eerie, totally different to daytime, when the bright Scottish sunshine poured through the skylights and windows. A tremor shivered along her spine and she stopped and glanced around. There was no one there except deep, abiding emptiness.

  Tracy crossed the foyer and stared into the darkness outside. She wasn’t scared. She could look after herself. Being raised in foster homes for cash taught you self preservation faster than most kids learned their ABCs. She flicked her hair out of her face and raised her chin. She was used to being alone, but tonight the isolation welled with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Another Saturday night going back to a sterile apartment in Albany Park shared with five other girls, none of whom she particularly liked. Going home alone. Again.

  For some reason her feelings about sexual freedom had disintegrated into self-disgust. Everyone else had someone to share their lives with. Her they just screwed. Maybe the dissatisfaction was because of what she’d done after she’d left the Gatty last night?

  She’d bumped into him on her way out of the building and he’d invited her back to his place. To begin with it had been exciting, but afterward she’d felt dirty. Very dirty.

  She slammed the lock-release button on the wall, pushed through the glass doors and ran outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Maybe she wasn’t as sexually liberated as she’d imagined. She huddled deeper into her jacket. The haar, that ghostly east coast mist that plagued the region, had rolled in off the bay enshrouding the buildings, muting the landscape.

  She’d never role-played before.

  He’d told her next time she could choose the roles, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be that defenseless again and she wasn’t sure she believed him. He wasn’t the submissive type.

  She rubbed her wrists.

  He’d been rough. And then he’d made her beg. And it had hurt and she’d begged anyway until he’d done everything he’d wanted and she’d come so hard she’d nearly had a heart attack.

  The heat of humiliation crept up her neck. Hugging her arms tight across her chest she glanced around the car park and started walking. She didn’t hear anything except the sea, but she gripped her keys like a weapon, just in case.

  What she needed was a real boyfriend, one who walked her home before spending the entire night cozied up in her bed.

  Merciless wind blasted her face and she tucked her nose into the raised collar of her coat, stepping onto the path that ran along the seafront. There was a streetlight farther along the path, an amber beacon. She walked faster toward it.

  Crack!

  Tracy jolted into the air, dropping her keys. She grabbed her chest where her heart banged against her ribs. What the hell was that? Shit! Then she started laughing. It was just a branch slapping the windows of the Gatty, shadows lashing in the mist.

  Shaking her head, Tracy bent to pick up her keys. A shoe scuffed the pavement behind her an instant before white-hot pain exploded in her skull. The sound of crunching bone shocked her even as her knees gave out and she fell to the ground.

  Icy dew soaked her clothes. Instinct kept her moving, despite her injuries, despite the sharp tang of blood in her mouth. She rolled. Over the grass, then out of control down the short slope tow
ard the beach. The lip of the seawall jarred her to a stop, the pain in her head excruciating, as if someone had bashed her brains with a red-hot poker.

  “Please. Help.”

  She tried to scream, but her voice came out like a kitten drowning. A foot gave her a shove and for a moment she hovered, weightless, before she smashed into cold sand below. Grit got in her mouth. She spat it out.

  She couldn’t stop shaking. Terror froze all thought except survival, but she couldn’t make her muscles work. Each beat of her heart pumped blood from her body, but she refused to die. She would not die before she’d got what she wanted out of this damned life. A scream of fury and frustration roared through her mind, but her vocal cords didn’t work. She couldn’t get enough breath.

  She twisted onto her belly and began to crawl even though it hurt. Sand was smooth and cool between her fingers. She dragged herself forward, sweat pouring off her forehead, arms shaking with exertion. Then running shoes appeared before her and she stopped, raising her head to look at her attacker. It didn’t make any sense.

  Her life was cursed. “Why? Why me?”

  “Because nobody cares about you.”

  That awful truth punched Tracy as hard as any blow. She was going to die and nobody would care. The hammer came toward her—death in slow motion—and she could do nothing but watch.

  Chapter Five

  Nick sat in the car, his gut churning like a combine. He’d done worse things in his time, scarier things, but they hadn’t made him feel this wretched. He put his fingers on his lips feeling the murmur of betrayal that had crossed his mouth. He’d wanted to keep kissing Susie Cooper until dawn broke.

  Instead he’d stolen her wallet.

  He flipped open the turquoise suede. Ignored the ID card with Susie’s smiling face staring up at him from the clear plastic window. He pulled out a slim electronic keycard that opened the front door of the Gatty Marine Lab. Lily had one identical. Dropping the wallet to the passenger seat, he started the engine and noticed a light was still burning in Emily Heathcote’s cottage.