Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(75)

“Suspicious is a strong word. Let’s say wary.”

“He’s been here less time than you have.”

“He could be working for the scary bastard, and if that’s the truth…” She took a breath. “Mitch was a good soldier. He’s trained to survive, and he’s trained to kill.”

“He’s the real deal.”

“Precisely.” The doors opened and she got in. “To get him out of the way, I sent him to the airstrip with the last of the guests, but if he works for or with someone, he could have contacted them.”

“Someone who cuts off people’s hands? I’ll be careful. You, too.” He saluted as the doors closed.

Kellen exited near the security center, and as she walked the empty corridor, she glanced around. The sense of being watched crawled up her spine.

And apparently she was being watched, for when she got close, Max opened the door. “What have you got?” he asked.

“Smuggled art.”

She entered and he shut the door behind her. “You liberated smuggled art.” Now he looked at her as if she was Wonder Woman.

According to Birdie’s fictitious account, she was a superhero, and right now, she was feeling pretty smug. “Think it will fit in the vault?”

“We’ll make it work.” He ran through the code, then pressed his finger to the identifier. It figured that he was one of the privileged few who could access the safe.

The big old bank vault with the new locking system creaked open.

He cleared off a shelf and they placed the box inside.

When the vault door shut with a solid sound, she relaxed against it and grinned. “We’re doing good. Any sign of Nils Brooks yet?”

“None.”

“Any trouble in sight?”

With some humor, he said, “You’re here.”

She remembered that hungry look he’d given her earlier. Now his interest seemed businesslike.

“Who is Nils Brooks?” he asked. “Who is he really?”

Should she tell him? Annie had sent her trusted nephew as security for the resort. But death stalked the dim corridors and windswept grounds. Kellen needed help and Max could give it, and so in the plainest, fastest way she could, she outlined her history with Nils.

When she finished, Max said, “The CIA? The MFAA? He’s undercover? Come on! You do realize how absurd that all sounds?”

“I do, especially in light of his disappearance. But, Max, right now, I only trust me and thee, and I’m not so sure about thee. Or me, for that matter.” She meant that more than she could say. About both of them.

But he chuckled, a nice, rich, warm sound. “I’ll help you search. You think he’s here—”

“He is not leaving now, not when things are coming to a head.”

“Where can he be that we can’t see him?”

Her annoyance with Nils fought with her fear for him. “Dead under a rock on the beach.”

“Kellen, with all due respect, I can hardly believe he’s former CIA and undercover with a newly re-formed government agency that is concerned with, of all things, antiquities.”

Everything Max said fed into her own doubts, made her feel foolish and resentful. “If there’s a chance that he’s telling the truth—”

“I know. You’re right. Re-forming the MFAA is a good idea. I simply don’t know that I believe the government ever follows through on good ideas.” Max pushed his hair off his forehead. “Where is he if he’s not dead under a rock?”

“In the spa. In the restrooms. In one of the guest rooms. Because of privacy issues, there are no security cameras in those locations.”

“I’ll check the spa first,” Max said in heavy irony.

“I’m going to check his cottage. He didn’t answer the house phone this morning when we wanted him to evacuate. He didn’t respond when Frances knocked on his door. She said she went in and called for him and searched. But she’s frightened. I can’t see her poking into every corner.”

“You think he hid in the closet or behind the shower curtain?” Max’s tone started out incredulous and ended in a brief, humorous laugh.

“Or he was out beating the bushes.”

“Or he’s dead somewhere.” Max said that in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes. That’s possible, too. I texted him and he never answered.”

“Be careful out there,” Max said.

“Be careful in here,” Kellen replied.

“No problem. I’m the Incredible Hulk, remember?”

“And I’m Wonder Woman.”

As she started to walk out, he caught her arm. “After this is over, we’ll need to talk.”

She took a breath. “Philadelphia?”

“You remember?”

Her heartbeat sped up. Confirmation. He was part, maybe all, of her forgotten past. “Not really.”

Heat shimmered in the air between them. They looked at each other, each searching for some remnant of the past, of passion remembered and passion forgotten.

“Later,” he said and let her go.

Later? There might not be a later. And she wanted to know.

She leaned into him, settled against his big body, absorbed the heat and the muscled strength.