Lethal Affair. Jean Pichon Thomas
eyes on her since she gave my ring back to me two years ago.”
“So?”
“So, after the way we broke up, she’d no more welcome my interference than she did yours. Not that I’d let that stop me if I thought she was in trouble. Come on, man, face it. Your suspicions are groundless, the product of your imagination.”
“I take it that’s a refusal.”
“It is. Sorry, Will, but whatever my past feelings for your sister, I have no intention of chasing down to this St. Sebastian to help a woman who doesn’t want or need my help. You’ve got to start remembering that Brenna is intelligent and independent. She can take care of herself if she has to.”
“That your final answer?”
“Afraid so.”
Will got to his feet, placed several bills on the table to cover their drinks and a tip and picked up his coat. “Thanks, anyway, for listening to me, Case.”
Not until he was gone, leaving him sitting there, did Casey realize Will had never touched his beer.
Casey should have been on his way himself, but he remained there in the booth, suddenly feeling lousy for disappointing a man who had once been a close friend.
He caught himself gazing unhappily at the photos on the walls. But it wasn’t any of the sports figures he saw up there. It was the radiant face of Brenna Coleman.
He couldn’t help it. Against his better judgment, much against it, he found himself reliving memories of the long, intimate months they had shared. There was one sizzling evening in particular Casey would never forget. It was the first time they had made love.
He had driven them in his convertible that wet summer night to one of the less popular Lake Michigan beaches, parking in a deserted spot looking out at the dark waters.
“You ever come down here with a boyfriend when you were in high school to watch the submarine races?” he’d teased her with that old euphemism for making out at the beach.
Brenna pretended she hadn’t, innocently asking him to explain what couldn’t be possible. He’d enlightened her without words, tangling his hands in her silky hair to draw her into his arms where he’d covered her lush mouth with his own.
Her responses to his deep, lusty kisses had convinced him this wasn’t the first time she had experienced those submarine races at the beach. In the end, like a couple of hormonal teenagers instead of the adults they were, they’d climbed eagerly into the back of the convertible. Thanks to the weatherman on channel nine, he’d raised the top earlier, so they were private enough while, between kisses, they tore at each other’s clothes.
It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement trying to fit their naked bodies together on that seat, but it was one hell of a memorable one. He could still feel Brenna’s arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, still taste her tongue on his, still hear her whimpers of pleasure as the rain pinged softly on the roof.
The possibility of some police cruiser coming along to catch them made it all the more exciting. Maybe that was why their climaxes had been so cataclysmic.
Sitting there in the booth, Casey felt himself growing aroused just thinking about that night. Damn, he didn’t want this.
He dragged his cell phone out of his back pocket. He hesitated only briefly before, his mind made up, he dialed the number of another FBI agent at the Chicago division of the bureau over on Roosevelt Road. To his satisfaction, Ken Boynton, a trusted buddy, was at his desk and picked up immediately.
“What’s up?” Boynton asked after Casey had identified himself.
“Hey, Kenny, I need a favor. I’d like you to check and tell me if there’s anything on the bureau’s radar about Marcus Bradley.”
“The Marcus Bradley?”
“That’s the one.”
“Jeez, Casey, you don’t ask much. You know the records are classified, and with you on suspension...”
“Who’s going to know if you don’t tell them?”
There was an audible sigh from the other end followed by a reluctant “All right, hold on while I look.”
Casey heard the tapping of keys as Ken called up the files on his computer. He waited patiently until the agent reported back.
“Okay, here it is.”
What Casey listened to wasn’t much, but it was enough. Just enough to convince him, after he thanked Ken and hung up, that he needed a holiday in the sun.
Chapter 1
Brenna gazed out across the bay, frowning at the scene. It wasn’t the narrow, palm-studded spur of land giving her trouble. That she had already managed without difficulty.
As she always did, she’d chosen her subject with care, convinced that, simple though it was, it would make a highly effective painting. The colors were the problem.
Without question, the waters of the Caribbean were the most gorgeous she had ever experienced, ranging from a rich aquamarine to a deep, inky blue. But to capture these incredible colors on canvas and make them believable...well, this was what eluded her.
Come on, you can conquer them, she reminded herself.
With that stubborn self-promise firmly in mind, Brenna swung her attention away from the view, prepared to mix the pigments she needed on her palette. Along with her brushes and tubes of oil paint, the palette rested on the wide tray attached to her easel.
She was reaching for it when, out of the corner of her eye, she discovered something moving off to her left, ambling in her direction along the volcanic black sand beach. A tall, barefoot figure wearing a pair of snug white pants rolled to mid-calf and a matching white shirt carelessly open down to his waist.
There was something distinctly familiar about that long-legged, easy gait. It couldn’t be him. Not here on St. Sebastian.
But there was no denying his identity when he neared her, sporting that big, goofy grin on his bold mouth. A mouth whose sensual talents she was incapable of forgetting. Casey McBride.
Brenna never wore sunglasses when she was out on location. She felt they interfered with the truth of her painting. That was why it was necessary for her to squint her eyes against the brilliance of the tropic sun as she watched him approach her.
He did wear sunglasses, whipping them off when he reached her. Without any greeting, he leaned over the easel to inspect her painting in progress. That left Brenna free to examine him.
He hadn’t changed in the two years since they’d parted. Casey was still the rugged figure he’d always been with that angular, good-looking face. And, much to her disgust, he still had the power to set her pulses racing with his mere appearance.
Careful. You can’t let him know that. He’ll take advantage of you if you do.
Nodding, he placed a stamp of approval on the painting with a brief “Nice.”
“Thank you. Now would you like to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”
He turned to face her. “That isn’t a very friendly welcome.”
“I didn’t intend it to be. Do I get an answer?”
His only reply was to keep on looking at her, still wearing that stupid grin. All right, it wasn’t stupid. It was sexy. So, somehow, were the beads of perspiration on his powerful, bare chest. At least the portion his open shirt revealed. The sun, after all, was hot.
“Never mind explaining. I can guess. Will sent you, didn’t he?”
“Could be.”
“You know he did. What I can’t figure out is how you found me in this particular spot.”
“Now,