Page 45 of Shadow of Doubt

“Nothing.”

“Then why did my father and I fight about him?”

“Because your dad is a die-hard Republican who owns his own business. You obviously don’t remember, but you and your dad have always been about as far apart politically as any two people can get.” He was moving closer to her, his head on the pillow next to her rump. Nikki tried to ignore the feel of his breath, warm even through her robe. She wanted to move away from him, told herself it only made sense, but there was an irresistible pull that kept her seated on the bed, her robe tucked around her legs, her breathing jumping irregularly.

“How shady?”

“Huh?”

“The senator. What was my theory?”

“I don’t know. You wouldn’t discuss it. Very hushhush. I’m surprised your father and Connie knew about it.”

Connie, too, had insisted that it was something they had to keep quiet. But what? Nikki racked her brain and felt Trent’s wet hair rub against her thigh. Her stomach rolled over slowly as desire began to warm her blood.

“What did you find out at the airport?” she asked to keep her head clear, but his hand encircled her bare ankle. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she could barely concentrate on anything but the warm grip around her leg.

“The storm’s supposed to die down and we’re booked on a flight that takes off at three. Barring any more catastrophes, we’ll be home by midnight tomorrow.”

She should have felt overwhelming relief. Instead the nagging feeling that she was leaving something in Salvaje, something undone, kept teasing at her.

He moved his hand. His fingers gently glided up the inside of her calf. Her throat grew tight and she could barely breathe. Biting her lip, she glanced down at him, his head angled on the pillow so that his gaze met hers.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.

His palm brushed her knee an

d moved upward. “I know it isn’t.”

“Maybe we should stop—Oh!” Her protests were cut off when he moved suddenly, shifting on the bed so that his body was stretched over hers, his lips finding her yielding mouth just as his fingers touched her panties.

“I can’t,” he admitted, his lips claiming hers with the same wild passion that had touched her soul only hours before. “Don’t you know that by now? When I’m with you, I just can’t stop.”

* * *

Trent spied el Perro seated at the bar. The Dog was sipping from a tall glass and trying to make time with a long-legged redhead. The Luna Plata, or Silver Moon tavern, was busy for early afternoon, the air thick with cigarette smoke and laughter, glasses clinking, ice rattling, bawdy jokes thrown about in Spanish. The barkeep, a portly man with a handlebar mustache, was busy making drinks. Waitresses in short ruffled skirts and low-cut tight bodices wiggled quickly between the booths and round tables.

Trent slid into the empty stool next to the Dog. Their eyes met in the mirror behind the bar. As Trent ordered a beer, el Perro whispered something into the redhead’s ear, grinned at her response and patted her on her rear as she slid from her stool. Only when Trent had paid for his beer did the two men move into one of the back booths near a loud poker game that protected their conversation.

“Your woman, she is sly like the fox, eh?” el Perro asked, his dark eyes burning with malicious mirth in the dark tavern.

Trent’s blood boiled a little, but he managed a thin smile. “She’s smart enough.”

“Too smart for you, eh?”

“Maybe,” Trent allowed, taking a long pull from his bottle.

El Perro snorted a laugh and lit a cigarette. “She leaves you to wipe the table and does her business alone.”

“What business?” Trent asked, though he suspected he already knew. “You mean the camera shop?”

The smaller man exhaled a plume of smoke and seemed mildly disappointed. “Sí.”

“I expected that.”

“Did you know she met the silver-haired one?” el Perro asked, sliding a glance in Trent’s direction. “The man with the cane.”

Trent’s composure slipped. His muscles tightened and he held his bottle of beer in a death grip. “Crowley?” he whispered, his throat raw. “She met Crowley?”

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