Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge Read online

  He opened the door for her, then went around to slide behind the wheel. “Where do we find Mr. Bogart?”

  “He’s at Professor Gold’s beach house.”

  Cassie gave Jack directions, and as they drove along the coastal roadway, she studied him covertly from the corner of her eye.

  Did she trust him?

  In spite of Sergeant Vargas’s ringing endorsement, she still hadn’t decided. The idea that Jack had been following her—maybe for days—left her distinctly uncomfortable. He’d seen her in unguarded moments, and that alone was enough to make her shy away from him.

  And then there was that little scene at Metro.

  The two of them had practically been making out in public. Cassie could only imagine what he must think of her after that…unseemly display.

  He turned, saw her staring, and smiled.

  And, boy, what a smile. The way his lips tilted slightly at the corners made Cassie think all kinds of things she had no business thinking, especially in light of the fact that she’d almost been shark bait little more than an hour ago. Talk about unseemly.

  But…she’d been yearning for an adventure, and now here she was, smack-dab in the middle of a doozy.

  “Which way?” Jack asked as they came to an intersection.

  “Left.”

  He made the turn, and as they drove along the narrow lane, Cassie noticed two twenty-something women in thong bikinis admiring a silver Jaguar parked on the side of the road. Cassie wasn’t sure why, but as she and Jack drove by, she turned to glance back. One of the girls lifted a cell phone to her ear and said something into the mouthpiece as she stared after Cassie and Jack.

  There was nothing unusual in the girl’s action, Cassie told herself. Young women talked on cell phones all the time.

  She put the incident out of her mind as Jack pulled into Ethan Gold’s driveway. “I won’t be long,” she told him, “but you’re welcome to come in if you want.”

  “I’ll wait on the landing.” They both got out of the car, and Jack followed her up the stairs.

  At the top, Cassie fished a key from underneath a flowerpot and opened the front door. She took a step inside, then froze.

  The room had been totally trashed. Paintings and cushions had been ripped to shreds, furniture overturned, lamps smashed. Even the carpet had been slashed.

  Cassie hadn’t consciously made a noise, but she must have cried out in dismay because suddenly Jack was right behind her. When he put a hand on her arm, she started violently. He said in her ear, “Wait here.”

  He pulled a gun from the back waistband of his jeans—which had been hidden by his shirt—and slowly walked into the room. Flattening himself against the wall, he eased toward the hallway. Glancing back at Cassie, he put a finger to his lips, cautioning her to silence, then he turned and peered around the corner. Finding the coast clear, he disappeared down the corridor.

  He’d been gone for only a few seconds when Cassie heard an engine rev somewhere below her. Instinctively, she started down the stairs, but before she made it to the bottom, Jack rushed past her, shoving her aside in his haste.

  “He went out the back!” he yelled as he raced to the sedan and jumped in. But just as he reversed out of the drive, a car across the street backed out and blocked him.

  Jack laid on the horn, but the noise seemed to only confuse the other driver. The car stopped just inches from the sedan’s bumper and remained there.

  Infuriated, Jack jumped out of the car and waved for the driver to move. The car didn’t budge.

  By this time, Cassie had made it down the stairs and into the driveway. She glanced down the street in time to see the silver Jaguar take off like a bullet. The driver made the intersection without stopping, then vanished down the street.

  Jack ran over to the other car, but before he reached the driver’s window, the vehicle shot forward and he had to jump out of the way.

  As the car sped away, Cassie caught a glimpse of the driver. The windows were tinted, but she was pretty sure the girl behind the wheel was the same one who had been talking on the cell phone earlier.

  Cassie hurried down the driveway toward Jack. “Aren’t you going to chase them?”

  “Do you really think I could catch a Jag in that thing?” He nodded toward the sedan.

  “You think that girl deliberately backed out in front of you?”

  “It looked pretty damn deliberate to me,” Jack said grimly. “She must have used her cell phone to warn him we were coming. But at least I got the plate numbers on both vehicles.”

  Cassie hadn’t even thought of that. Everything had happened too quickly. She caught Jack’s arm. “Who do you think was in there? Did you see him?”

  He ran a hand through his blond hair. “I didn’t get a good look. The back door was open, and by the time I spotted him, he was making a beeline for the Jag.”

  “Are you sure it was a he?”

  Jack glanced down at her in surprise. “Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

  Cassie bit her lip. “No, not really.” But she couldn’t help thinking that the wanton destruction inside the beach house might have been the act of a scorned woman. Or a scorned woman’s hired minions.

  Jack took out his cell phone. “I’d better get Vargas over here to file a report. Gold’s insurance company is going to be pissed. First his boat, and now this.”

  And more than likely, Cassie was going to catch heat for both incidents. She was getting in more deeply by the minute, but instead of coming clean, she held her tongue and watched Jack make the call. Then they both went back upstairs.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he warned as she started to go inside.

  “I won’t. But I have to find Mr. Bogart. He’s probably scared half to death.”

  “All right, go ahead,” Jack muttered. “I doubt very seriously whoever did this left prints. He knew what he was doing.”

  Or she. Cassie wasn’t yet ready to rule out Margo Fleming’s culpability in the day’s events. Hadn’t Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard warned her of what the woman might be capable?

  Cassie left Jack in the living room to go find Mr. Bogart. But after a few minutes of fruitless searching, she started to panic. What if Margo or her henchmen had done something to him? What better revenge against Celeste? Everyone knew how much she loved that little dog. If any harm had come to him, how would Cassie break it to her cousin?

  She realized with something of a shock that she’d take the loss pretty hard herself. She wasn’t a dog person—never had been. But she had to admit that Mr. Bogart, with his beady little eyes and temperamental disposition, had found his way into her heart.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Just let me find you safe and sound. I’ll never scold you again. I’ll give you all the doggie treats you can eat, and take you for long walks in the park. You can stop at every tree if you want. I’ll even put in a good word with Chablis’s mommy. Come on, Bogey. Just tell me where you are. Give me some kind of sign.”

  Cassie was just about to give up when she heard a whimper coming from the bathroom. The door was closed so she used the tail of her shirt—or rather Jack’s shirt, which she still wore over her swimsuit—to turn the knob.

  Shoving the door open with her toe, she peered inside. The whimpers came from behind the shower curtain, and a more pitiful sound Cassie had never heard. She had no idea what the intruder might have done to the poor little pooch, but her imagination was very good at conjuring up the worst.

  Steeling herself, she crossed the room and yanked back the curtain.

  And there he sat, quivering in the bathtub, apparently unharmed except for his dignity. Cassie knew that feeling only too well. She sprung him from his porcelain prison, and cuddled him close as she carried him down the hallway.

  Still trembling, he buried his head under her arm and he didn’t come out until he heard Jack’s voice. Then his head shot out and his ears pricked up. Spying Jack in the living room, he squirmed out of Cassie’s grasp and ran over
to sniff his leg. He sat down and began to wag his tail furiously.

  “I’ve never seen him do that,” Cassie said in awe. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.” The dog had never even seen Jack before, but there he was, acting as if the cop was his long lost friend.

  Jack reached down and gave him a quick scratch behind the ears. “Wish you could tell me who did this, buddy.”

  The little dog yapped shrilly as if he were, indeed, trying to tell them something. Then he turned and raced back down the hallway.

  Exchanging a puzzled glance, Jack and Cassie followed him. He ran into the bathroom and began to paw frantically at something on the tile floor.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” Cassie said from the doorway.

  Jack brushed by her and squatted to get a closer look. “I think he’s found some blood.”

  “Blood?” Cassie was appalled. “Then they did do something to him.”

  “I’d say it was the other way around. I think Mr. Bogart probably put up quite a fight, and what we have here is the suspect’s DNA.”

  Cassie glanced down at the dog. “Really? He did that?”

  “Poor devil probably didn’t even realize he was bleeding. Good work, Bogey.” Jack scratched behind the dog’s ears again, and the Chihuahua positively strutted from the room.

  So Jack Fury had a way with animals. Interesting.

  Cassie wondered suddenly how he was with kids.

  VARGAS ARRIVED fifteen minutes later with a couple of uniformed officers. While they dusted for prints, he filled out the paperwork and took statements. By the time they’d finished, the sun was setting, and Cassie was happy to see the end of a very dark day.

  She hurriedly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and gathered up her weekend bag. She couldn’t wait to put distance between herself and the beach. What had started off as a promising weekend had ended in disaster, and now all she wanted was a long soak in her own private Jacuzzi back at the Mirabelle.

  She knew she had a lot to mull over, plans to make, consequences to consider, but right now she was too exhausted to even think straight.

  Only after they’d crossed the causeway and were headed back to Houston did she breathe a sigh of relief. As the tension began to drain away, she even managed to doze off, but she awakened with a start when she felt the car slow.

  She opened her eyes, expecting to find that they were back in the city, but instead they were cruising along the feeder road of I-45.

  When Jack made a turn, Cassie bolted up in alarm. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me? What’s going on?”

  Jack shot her a glance. “I’m taking you someplace where we can talk in private.”

  “We can’t do that back at the hotel?”

  “This can’t wait.”

  Cassie shivered at his tone. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Do you even have to ask? The boat you took out blew up, and someone ransacked the house you were staying in. I’d say we have a lot to talk about.”

  Suddenly, the tension was back, throbbing at Cassie’s temples. She tried to massage away the stabbing pain. “Do you think whoever trashed Professor Gold’s beach house was after the diamond?”

  “Maybe.” Jack glanced in the rearview mirror as if to make sure they weren’t being followed. His action only added to Cassie’s unease, and she turned to glance over her shoulder.

  “But why blow up the boat? He couldn’t have known I didn’t have the ring with me. For all he knew, he could have sent the diamond to the bottom of the ocean along with me.” Cassie turned suddenly. “Jack, what if the two incidents aren’t related? What if the jewel thief is after the diamond, and someone else is after…me?”

  “I’ve thought of that possibility,” he admitted. “At this point, I don’t think we can rule out anything.”

  “But if you’re on the trail of the jewel thief, you can’t afford to be sidetracked by…whatever else is going on,” Cassie said. “Can you?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t worry about that. I follow the clues wherever they lead me.”

  Ookay. Cassie drew a long breath. Jack’s answer was evasive at best, but suddenly she didn’t care. She still wasn’t sure she trusted him, but she knew she felt safer with him around.

  She also knew from the experience at Metro that he would protect her, even with his own life if need be, and that realization was a great comfort to her.

  And a powerful aphrodisiac. Not that she needed much encouragement. At least where Jack Fury was concerned, anyway.

  Cassie’s gaze swept over him. If he had been following her for days, how could she not have noticed him? There was just something about him. He wasn’t conventionally handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but Cassie had a feeling that he was a veritable chick magnet. The impossible hair color only added to his appeal because it gave him an edge. And a sense of humor. She didn’t think a guy with hair like that could possibly take himself too seriously, although she sensed he was deadly serious about his job.

  The light-colored hair brought out the deep blue of his eyes and contrasted nicely with his dark, thick lashes. And those lips…mama mia, those lips…

  Cassie could fantasize about those lips for hours. She could write poems about those lips. Daydream about having them whisper along her throat, nuzzle the hollow between her breasts, and then, if she was lucky, he’d keep right on going.

  As she got a little carried away with the fantasy, Cassie squirmed in her seat, realizing that her nipples had gone quite hard beneath the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Jack pretended not to notice, but Cassie had a feeling very little escaped his attention.

  Chapter Eight

  Ho…ly…

  Jack cut himself off in midthought. He was trying to clean up his language, not to mention his mind, but it wasn’t easy with Celeste Fortune around. The woman was hot.

  How had he ever thought she didn’t measure up to her screen image? Film just did not do her justice. There she sat, with limp hair and a sunburned face, and Jack didn’t think she’d ever looked sexier.

  He could see the outline of her breasts through her thin T-shirt, and the nipple action she had going was enough to send his blood pressure through the roof. He could feel himself getting aroused just watching her, and he tried to avert his gaze, but he’d seen those breasts before. He didn’t have to use his imagination. He knew what they looked like, and all that was left to do know now was touch them, taste them…

  She’d probably slap his face if he got out of line, and Jack wouldn’t blame her a bit. He admired a woman who wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, but at the same time, there was that tiny spark in her eyes that suggested she just might not be all that opposed to his advances.

  Take it easy. She was just a job, and if he had any sense, he’d keep their relationship on a purely professional basis. He had enough to worry about right now. Like who was out to get her.

  Someone had blown up that boat, trashed the beach house and the suspect might well be the person he’d seen the other night trying to break into her hotel suite. The perp appeared to be getting bolder and more desperate by the day, and Jack knew from experience that desperation was a very dangerous commodity.

  As he pulled into the gravel parking lot of a restaurant named Pop’s, he flashed Celeste another glance. She was staring out the window, but sensing his perusal, she turned to face him. His gaze dropped in spite of himself, but he recovered so quickly he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. Oh, she’d noticed, all right. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” she said. “I can’t leave Mr. Bogart in here. It’s too hot.”

  “I’ve got some pull with the owners. There’s a shady little courtyard around back where we can put him. He can stretch his legs while we talk. Just give me a minute to set up everything.” Jack left the engine and air conditioner running as he got out of the car.

  Striding across the parking lot, he glanced around. The place looked aban
doned. The outside of the building appeared to have been cobbled together from weathered planks, license plates, and rusted signs, but looks could be deceiving, as he knew only too well.

  Inside, some of the best seafood and burgers in the area were served while fifties tunes blasted from the jukebox. Later, when more people headed back to Houston after a long day at the beach, the restaurant would fill up and overflow onto the picnic tables scattered about the yard.

  Pop’s had been around for as long as Jack could remember, and he’d spent many a summer there busing tables and washing dishes before going off to college in Austin. After that, he’d found easier and more profitable ways of making some spare change.

  Taking the porch steps two at a time, he opened the door and stood just inside for a moment, letting the familiar sights and smells wrap around him like an old worn blanket. Pop was behind the bar watching an Astros game on TV while his wife Betty placed fresh daisies from her garden in bud vases on the Formica tables.

  She glanced up momentarily when she heard the door, then did a double take. “Jackie? Is that you? Stu, look who it is!” She hurried toward the door. “It’s Jackie!”

  Stu Fury tore himself from the game and glanced around. When he saw Jack, his mouth gaped in astonishment. “…the hell?”

  “Hello to you, too, Pop,” Jack said with a grin. His stepmother enveloped him in a giant bear hug and for several long seconds, Jack could hardly breathe let alone speak. She was a petite woman, but she’d always been freakishly strong.

  Even on the threshold of sixty, she remained thin, toned and tanned, but the way she dressed—like a hooker with very bad taste—did nothing to enhance her looks. She should have lost the miniskirts and short shorts thirty years ago, not to mention the platinum hair, but Jack wasn’t exactly in any position to criticize, he decided as he caught a glimpse of his own hair in the long mirror behind the bar.