Breakaway (4 page)

“Why don’t we compromise?” Gavin suggested.

“How?”

“Since we’re both on vacation, we can share Terry.”

“I’ll agree. But he stays with me until he’s fully recovered.”

He extended a hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It couldn’t have worked out better for Gavin than if he’d planned it in advance. Hanging out with Celia Thomas would provide the perfect cover when he became the typical tourist, touring the area and asking questions.

Celia offered Gavin her brilliant dimpled smile when she took his hand. Slowly, seductively, his gaze moved from her parted lips to her throat and still lower to her chest before reversing direction. She tried to ignore the eddying sensations racing along her nerve endings. She didn’t know who Gavin Faulkner was, or what he did for a living, yet she’d agreed to share a stray puppy with him.

“Deal.”

Gavin released her soft, delicate hand. “I’ll come by
and pick you up at ten.” Turning on his heels, he made his way out the mudroom.

“Gavin?”

He stopped. “Yes.”

“Leave the puppy.”

“Oops,” he said, hiding a grin. “He’s so light I forgot I was holding him.” Celia extended her arms and he handed her the sedated dog. Taking a step, he angled his head and brushed his lips over her cheek. “Kiss Terry for me when he wakes up.”

Celia experienced a jolt of awareness from the press of his mouth on her face. She followed him as he walked through the kitchen, living room and dining area and to the door. She stood in the doorway, staring into the encroaching darkness as nightfall descended on the mountain like someone pulling down a gossamer, navy-blue curtain. She stood in the same spot, staring at the red taillights of Gavin’s vehicle until he disappeared from her line of sight.

Celia found Gavin so compelling, his virility so forceful that he reminded her of what she’d missed—had been missing—for nearly a year.

She wanted a man, but more than that she needed a man to make her feel alive, desirable. She’d joked with her brother about taking a lover for the summer. After meeting Gavin Faulkner, the joke was upgraded to a notion. Besides, she mused, she could do a whole lot worse than the hunky stranger who cooked and had a soft spot for dogs.

G
avin supported his back against the headboard of the bed in the master bedroom. He’d enjoyed hanging out at this house overlooking a picturesque valley. His temporary residence was a far cry from hotel decor that failed to vary much from one chain to another regardless of the upgrade.

Scrolling through his cell-phone directory, he punched in a secure number, grinning when he heard a familiar voice come through the earpiece. The analyst had the sultriest voice of any woman he’d encountered. Now that he heard it again, there was something in its timbre that reminded him of Celia Thomas’s voice. There was just enough of a drawl in Celia’s cadence to garner his complete attention whenever she spoke.

“Good evening, Vera. When did you switch to nights?”

“I put in the request several months ago when Peter
was reassigned to forensics. There’s no way we can afford to leave two teenage boys unsupervised for long periods of time. The last time Peter and I worked days they almost burned the house down. I know you didn’t call to get an overview of my home life, Gavin. What’s up?”

“I need you to run a Florida plate for me.” He gave Vera Celia’s license plate number.

“How much do you want to know about her?”

“Everything from the day she was born.”

“Let me call you back, Gavin.”

“I’ll be here.” Pressing a button, he ended the call. Gavin knew he could count on Vera Sanchez to come up with the information he needed on Celia Cole-Thomas. If he was going to connect with her on a more personal level, then he wanted to know what to expect.

She’d told him that she was a doctor—that was verified by her surgical skills. She’d also said that she was on vacation. He wanted to know where she lived in Florida, her family connections, whether she’d been married, had children and if she’d ever been arrested.

Crossing bare feet at the ankles, Gavin stared at the image of the news anchor on the flat-screen television on the opposite wall. He picked up the remote device and began channel surfing. The late-night news was over, so he had his pick of reruns, movies and infomercials.

When he spoke to Mac, he would thank his supervisor for putting him up in a place and permitting him access to cable television. He found a channel airing a movie about Nelson Mandela and the South African prison official who’d befriended him during his twenty-seven year imprisonment for his opposition to apartheid.

Halfway into the film, Gavin’s cell phone rang and he was loath to answer it. However, he knew he had to
take the call. “Faulkner,” he said by way of identifying himself. His cell phone was programmed with voice recognition. If he lost or misplaced his phone and someone attempted to use it, then it would be rendered inoperable within seconds.

“Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas has a very interesting life,” Vera began.

Gavin listened, stunned by the information Vera had come up with on the woman. “Thank you, Vera. You’re invaluable.”

“Always glad to help. Be safe, Gavin.”

“Always, Vera, always.”

He hung up and closed his eyes. He’d never been shot or wounded when he’d served as an Army Ranger or during his tenure as a special agent with the Bureau. But on the other hand, Celia—who’d taken an oath to protect life—had nearly lost hers during a street-gang shootout in a hospital’s E.R., where she’d become an eyewitness to murder.

She’d said that she was on vacation, but what Dr. Thomas hadn’t said was that her vacation was also an extended medical leave.

Gavin wondered if the reason she hadn’t returned to the hospital was because she’d been traumatized by the murders, or because she was still mourning the shooting death of her fiancé.

Forcing his attention back to the film, he temporarily pushed all thoughts of the woman with the dimpled smile and sexy voice to the recesses of his mind.

Celia heard whining and opened her eyes. She sat up and scrambled off the bed. Terry was sitting up in the makeshift bed she’d fashioned from a wicker laundry
basket and a pillow. After making certain he’d recovered from the effects of the sedative, she’d driven to a twenty-four-hour Walmart to pick up puppy food and supplies.

Kneeling, she picked up the puppy. He’d soiled the wee-wee pad. “Good morning, baby boy,” she crooned softly. “How are you feeling?” Celia was greeted with a yawn. “Are you still sleepy from the drug?” Terry had become her first non-human patient.

Cradling Terry to her chest, she walked to the French doors, punched in the code on the security keypad on the wall and opened the doors leading out to the deck. She placed Terry on the flagstone surface and returned to the bedroom.

Celia made a mental list of the items she had to purchase from a pet store: bed, crate, lead and harness. She wouldn’t trust the terrier to have the run of the house until he was housebroken.

She wasn’t certain whether Terry would eat, but she knew he had to get some nutrition or he wouldn’t survive. She removed the pad, returned him to the basket, carrying it down the staircase and placing it in a corner between the kitchen and pantry. The puppy’s nose twitched as he surveyed his surroundings.

Sitting on the floor, she attempted to hand-feed the puppy when he sniffed the bowl containing a small amount of dry food. He’d walked away, taking furtive steps. It took Celia forty minutes to coax the dog to eat five pieces of kibble. She was more successful getting him to drink water before settling him on her lap where he curled himself into a ball.

She traced the tan spots with her fingertips. “Don’t get too used to me feeding you, little prince. Once you’re healed, either you’ll eat by yourself or you’ll
go hungry.” Terry opened his eyes, staring at her as if he understood what she’d said. Celia sat holding the puppy until it fell asleep, then placed it in the basket and went upstairs to ready herself before Gavin arrived.

Celia patted the moisture from her body with a thick, thirsty towel, and then went through her morning ritual of applying a moisturizer to her face and perfumed cream to her body. She’d just slipped into her underwear when the telephone rang. It was a rare occasion when the house phone rang. Her family and close friends usually called her cell.

Smiling, she lifted the receiver from its cradle when she saw the caller ID. “Good morning, Hannah.”

“Good morning, Celia. I’m sorry to call so early, but I forgot to ask you yesterday if you were going to Florida for the Memorial Day weekend.”

Celia sat on a chair in the bedroom’s dressing area. She’d stopped the day before to visit the woman who’d welcomed her with a pan of scrumptious lasagna and an apple pie the day she’d taken possession of the house.

Hannah Walsh, who’d been a newlywed, had just celebrated the publication of the first book she’d illustrated, and Celia made certain to buy copies for every one of her young cousins. Hannah had taught daycare, and her husband worked night security at a department store while attending classes to earn a criminal justice degree. Five years later, Daniel became a North Carolina state trooper and a father for the first time within the same week.

“No. I’ve decided to hang out here for a while. I’m not certain when I’m going back.”

“If that’s the case, then I want to invite you over for a Saturday afternoon barbecue. Please tell me you’ll come.”

“Of course I’ll come. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No. We have everything. I just want to warn you that Daniel has invited some of his single buddies and now that they know you’re available, you may get more attention than you want.”

Celia smothered a groan. She was more than familiar with Daniel Walsh’s buddies. They were overly friendly, good-natured and quite vociferous after imbibing one too many beers. She didn’t know if Gavin had plans for the weekend, but if she invited him to go with her, then he would become her buffer.

“Would you mind if I bring a guest?”

“Of course I don’t mind. The more the merrier. I’m going to have as much fun as I can before the baby comes. Having to care for a newborn while dealing with a two-year-old and balancing a career will definitely test my patience
and
my sanity.”

“You’ll do just fine, Hannah, only because you’re the most organized person I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t you mean obsessive-compulsive?”

“That, too,” Celia teased. “What time should I come?”

“I’m telling everyone to come around two.”

“I’ll see you Saturday at two.” She hung up and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was nine-forty. She had to get dressed and be ready to leave by ten.

“Is there something wrong, Gavin?”

Gavin blinked as if coming out of a trance. Celia Cole-Thomas was a chameleon. Each time he saw her
she looked different. This morning, she’d brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a twist on the nape of her long, slender neck. A white linen blouse, black tailored slacks and a pair of ballet-type patent leather flats bespoke simple elegance. The pearl studs in her ears matched the single strand around her neck, while a light cover of makeup accentuated her large eyes and lush mouth.

“No,” he admitted. “You look—wonderful.” He’d said wonderful when he’d wanted to tell Celia that she looked beautiful. He took a step, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you smell delicious.”

A flush heated her face. Celia wanted to tell Gavin he looked and smelled delicious, too. The aftershave on his clean-shaven jaw was the perfect complement for his body’s natural masculine scent.

“Thank you. Please come in.”

Gavin stepped into the entryway, his penetrating gaze cataloguing the furnishings. The night before, he’d been too involved with helping Celia with Terry to take note of anything.

“How’s Terry?” he asked, following Celia into the living room of the split-level house. The fireplace was the room’s focal point, competing only with the arch in the ceiling paneled with fir and illuminated with concealed strip lighting. The walls, covered with a coffee-colored fabric, complemented varying shades of cream and tan suede and leather on a club chair, love seat and sofa.

Celia smiled at Gavin over her shoulder. “Come and see for yourself.”

Slowing, he glanced around the dining area, mapped out by a border of cherry inlay in the oak flooring.
Sunlight coming in through oak-framed French doors spilled over the gleaming waxed floor. A bouquet of yellow and white spring blooms on a cherrywood table added a homey touch.

An island separated the open kitchen—with stainless-steel appliances—and the dining room; the ceiling styles in the two spaces were as varied and intricate as the one in the living room. The ceiling was flat over the kitchen with recessed lighting, while it was pitched over the dining area. Glass inserts in the kitchen cabinets came to the same roof-like peak as the cathedral ceiling over the dining table.

The abundance of wood imbued a sense of warmth and hominess. A cushioned sitting area—reminiscent of a window seat—under a row of windows was the perfect spot to sit, read or survey the activity in the kitchen and dining area at the same time.

“Do you own this house, or are you renting it?” Gavin had asked a question to which he knew the answer.

“I own it.”

“How long have you lived here?” He’d asked yet another question to which he knew the answer.

Celia stopped, turned and stared up the man who made her feel something she didn’t want to feel: desire. Although she’d found herself in love with Yale and planned to marry him, he never evoked the all-consuming desire she felt whenever she and Gavin Faulkner occupied the same space.

The tall man standing in the middle of her kitchen wearing jeans, a navy blue golf shirt with a familiar designer’s logo over his heart and a pair of low-heeled boots gave off waves of sensuality that threatened to smother her with its intensity. He’d removed the stubble,
and the strong line of his lean jaw made him even more attractive.

“I don’t live here year-round.”

“You live in Florida.” The query was a statement. “Your truck has Florida plates,” Gavin explained when her eyes grew wider.

“Miami,” Celia confirmed. She’d given Miami the Spanish inflection, it sounding like
Me-a-me.

Gavin smiled. “You speak Spanish?”

Celia’s smile matched his. “
Sí.
I have Cuban roots that go back to my great-grandmother.”

“Every time I go to Miami I put on at least five pounds because I can’t stop eating the food,” he admitted.

“Maybe I’m biased, but I believe Caribbean cuisine is superior to any other in the world.”

Gavin’s expression changed, vertical lines appearing between his eyes when he gave her a level frown. “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he countered.

“Tell me what’s better than Caribbean cuisine, Gavin?”

He registered the slight reproach in her tone. “Southern cooking. Have you ever had North Carolina-style barbecue pulled pork?”

“No. But I bet it’s not as good as—”

“Don’t say it, Celia,” he said, holding up a hand and interrupting her. “We’ll have a cook-off, and you can prepare your best Cuban dish while I’ll make the pulled pork.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed as she considered his challenge. “Bring it, brother.”

Gavin winked. “You just don’t know what you’re in for, beautiful. I hope you’re not a sore loser.”

Celia returned the wink. “I wouldn’t know because I’ve never lost a challenge. Speaking of barbecue, my
neighbor invited me to her house on Saturday to celebrate the holiday. If you’re not doing anything, I’d like you to come with me.”

Crossing muscular arms over his chest, Gavin angled his head. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Celia bit her lip, dimples deepening with the gesture as a flush suffused her face. Her embarrassment was short-lived. “What’s the matter? You’ve never been asked out by a woman?”

“I’ve been propositioned a few times, but I’ve never been asked out.”

“Well, don’t look for me to proposition you, Mr. Faulkner. If you’re not coming with me, then please let me know so—”

“The answer is yes, Miss Thomas.” Gavin agreeing to go with Celia had nothing to do with his mission. He’d agreed because he wanted to spend time with her. Accompanying her would also permit him to pick up bits of gossip from the area residents. “May I ask one question?”