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  His breathing harsh, he touched his tongue to his top lip, as if savoring the lingering taste of her. His face was flushed, but as his eyes cleared, he took a step back, raising his hands in submission. "It's okay."

  "I'm sorry," she repeated, and her voice broke. "I ... just ... I can't."

  Regret came into his eyes, accompanied by anger. "Don't apologize," he said.

  "Please don't be angry. I should have realized sooner that I wouldn't be able --"

  "I'm not angry at you," he cut in, his brow creasing.

  Unable to look at him, she covered her face. "It's not you. It's me."

  He put his hands, gentle and soothing, on her arms. "Alaina." When she didn't raise her head, he said, "Sweetheart."

  Sweetheart. She squeezed her eyes shut as a whole new wave of emotion threatened to buckle her knees. None of this was real. This was never supposed to happen for her. She'd resigned herself to it long ago.

  "Please, look at me."

  She did, her eyes swimming.

  He gave her a comforting albeit strained smile. "I'll admit I'm frustrated as hell. But I'm not angry. Not at you. We're going to get through this, but nothing's going to happen until you're ready." He kissed her on the forehead, the contact quick and chaste. "I'm going to take a cold shower now."

  As soon as he was gone, she sagged against the wall, her knees as insubstantial as water. Her heart was still sprinting, and she pressed trembling hands to her too-warm cheeks. She thought of him in the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes, and her mouth went dry as she pictured the hard muscles of his stomach. Hearing the water come on, she imagined how easy it would be to join him, to slide her hands over his naked skin and --

  A knock at the door snapped her head around, her heated blood running cold. Mitch had said his partner was coming. What was her name?

  She glanced toward the bathroom door, debated interrupting him. Then she spotted his holster hanging from the back of a chair.

  She had his gun in her hand when she opened the door.

  The woman standing on the other side -- long, wavy red hair in a ponytail, sky blue eyes, freckles, almost-pointed nose -- showed no surprise that Alaina was armed. She wore jeans, a backpack and leather jacket. A plastic grocery bag dangled from one hand.

  "Well, hello," the woman said easily, her affable gaze staying direct on Alaina's. "Julia Rafferty. You must be Alaina."

  Alaina kept the gun on her, not taking any chances without Mitch to confirm that this woman was indeed his partner. For all she knew, Julia had been replaced by another Layton assassin. She knew she was being paranoid, but she had learned over the years it was better to play it safe. "Are you armed?" she asked.

  Julia smiled, unperturbed. "Of course."

  "Where?"

  "Holster under my left arm."

  Alaina plunged her hand inside Julia's jacket, where she flicked the snap on the leather strap and drew the gun out. Squatting, she shoved it under the sofa, then, keeping her gaze and Mitch's gun trained on Julia, she felt for -- and found -- a second weapon strapped to her ankle.

  "I was going to tell you about that," Julia said.

  "Just waiting for me to ask?"

  She gave a shrug. "Figured I'd wait to see how savvy you are."

  Alaina set Mitch's gun on the floor and toed it under the couch, keeping Julia's ankle piece, which was smaller and more suited to her hand. "What's in the bag?" Alaina asked, gesturing for Julia to enter the cabin.

  "Sandwiches from Mitch's favorite deli. He's partial to pastrami on rye. Where is he, by the way?"

  "Shower."

  Julia's gaze focused on Alaina's mouth for an instant. "I see."

  Self-conscious, Alaina wet her lips, imagined they were swollen from Mitch's kisses. Shoving aside that very distracting memory, she indicated the sofa. "You can sit. He probably won't be long."

  Julia moved to the couch. "The place hasn't changed since we were here last," she said.

  Alaina wondered about Mitch's relationship with his partner. Had they been lovers? Before she could analyze the pang of jealousy, the shower shut off in the other room. She imagined him stepping out of the tub, water streaming over his smooth, tanned skin. She swallowed, and her mouth was so dry her tongue seemed to stick to the backs of her teeth.

  Julia cleared her throat. "I've seen your son."

  The statement jerked Alaina's attention away from Mitch, and she focused on his partner, all senses sharpened. "When?"

  "Yesterday. He and Keller were playing basketball. He's got a hell of a jump shot."

  Alaina thought of Jonah's grace and energy on the court. A natural athlete, the high school basketball coach had said while trying to recruit him for the freshman team. But Jonah had said he was more interested in playing soccer. She'd loved that he'd been able to look beyond the flattery and focus on what he wanted.

  Oh, how she missed him. It was an ache in her soul. "How is he?"

  "He looks well," Julia said. "Healthy."

  The growing tension in Alaina's throat made it dangerous to respond, but Julia didn't seem to notice. "He kicked the bastard's ass on the court," she said, as if relishing that fact.

  Alaina relished it, too, and wished she could have seen Layton's face. His competitiveness was well-documented, and being bested by a teenager -- her son, no less -- must have chafed big time.

  Mitch entered, rubbing his hair with a towel. He was barefoot, his shirt hanging open, his jeans zipped but unbuttoned. "It's all yours --" He broke off when he saw the gun in Alaina's hand and Julia on the sofa. "Hey, Jules," he said, smiling. "I see you've met Alaina."

  Julia grinned. "We were just getting to know each other."

  Alaina, tearing her gaze from Mitch's naked chest, lowered the gun. She gave Julia a chagrined look. "Please forgive me," she said.

  "No problem. Better safe than sorry, I always say." Rising, Julia shrugged off her backpack and jacket, dropped them on the sofa, then crossed to Mitch, grocery bag in hand. "Stopped by the deli on the way," she said.

  He snatched the bag from her, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. "You're the best."

  Alaina had not seen Mitch interact with a close friend, and she admired their easy camaraderie. Another door to his personality opened to her, and she liked what she saw.

  Warmed, Alaina watched him retreat to the kitchen with the bag. Then, feeling Julia's expectant gaze on her, she forced herself to focus on why Julia was here.

  "Mitch said you've been watching Layton's," she said.

  Julia, seeming to suppress a smile, nodded. "For several days now." She gestured at the sofa. "Do you mind if I retrieve my weapons?"

  Shaking her head in embarrassment, Alaina handed over the one that had been strapped to Julia's ankle. "I'm sorry. I've been paranoid so long I don't know when to quit."

  "Don't worry about it. I'd be paranoid if I were you, too." Julia dropped to her knees, reached under the couch. "You're not the only one. Keller's place is like a fortress."

  "You got close enough to see Jonah."

  "With a high-powered telephoto lens." She holstered her gun, then dug around for Mitch's. "I brought pictures. They're in my backpack. Help yourself."

  Alaina, annoyed that her hands trembled, sat on the couch and opened the backpack. An envelope of photos was on top, and the pictures inside stole her breath.

  Jonah, his feet not touching the ground, the basketball just leaving his fingertips.

  Jonah, grim determination on his face as he blocked a shot by Layton.

  Jonah, his face set in tense angles that told her he was not happy.

  "He's lost weight," she whispered.

  "He's a good-looking kid."

  Alaina raised her head, surprised that Julia had settled beside her. At the empathy in her blue eyes, Alaina groped for something to say to head off her growing emotion. "Mitch said you were going to get blueprints."

  Julia nodded. "I'm still working on that. It'd help if we had some inside help."

&nbs
p; "I don't know anyone."

  "Mitch said your sister might be able to --"

  "Like I told him, she's not an option."

  Mitch returned, his shirt buttoned. "Come eat," he said, distributing plates, chips and soft drinks around the table. As Julia pulled out a chair, he tossed a wrapped sandwich to her. "Your Reuben, madam."

  She caught it with a flourish. "Excellent throw, but you didn't put the usual spin on it."

  He grinned. "Didn't want to show off."

  "That's so unlike you," she replied, unwrapping her lunch and digging in.

  Smiling at their banter, Alaina sat next to Julia as Mitch leaned over to hand her a sandwich, his eyes twinkling. "Turkey club?" he asked.

  Her favorite. How had he known? Then she remembered that he'd shadowed her for three weeks. He knew far more about her than she did about him. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but she was certain that once she figured it out, it wouldn't alter her sudden craving for that turkey club. "Thanks," she said.

  "Aren't you lucky?" Julia said around a mouthful of sloppy corned beef and rye bread. "I've been trying to get him to stop throwing food at me for years."

  "Maybe you need to work on your damsel-in-distress act," Alaina said. "He's obviously a sucker for it."

  Julia shot Mitch a surprised glance, laughing. "She's got your number, bud."

  Mitch waggled his eyebrows as he popped the top on a can of Coke. "Call me anytime."

  Alaina might have blushed, but she was too busy falling in love with the turkey club that was easily the best she'd ever tasted.

  No one spoke again until Mitch, who'd already wolfed down half his sandwich, ripped into a single-serve bag of potato chips. "So what's the progress report, Jules?"

  Julia took a moment to wipe Thousand Island dressing off her mouth. "I was telling Alaina earlier that Keller's is locked down like a fortress. He's got an electrified fence and guards patrolling the grounds. Looks to me like he's expecting someone to try something."

  "How long do you think it'll take to get the lowdown on how to disable his security?" Mitch asked, reaching over to dump half the bag of chips onto Julia's plate.

  "Could be two weeks or more," Julia said, snagging a chip.

  Alaina, roused from her heavenly sandwich, swallowed hard. "Did you say two weeks?"

  "At least," Julia said. "There's a ton of firepower. It's like a maximum security prison without the razor wire."

  "How do the Kellers come and go?" Mitch asked, crunching on chips.

  "Security cards open an electric gate."

  "What about house staff?" Alaina asked.

  "There isn't much of one. No kitchen staff at all -- Mrs. Keller is known for her insistence that they cook for themselves. Landscape and cleaning crews come once a week. Pool people, too."

  "How do they get groceries? Are they delivered?" Alaina asked.

  "I don't know. I haven't observed any deliveries yet."

  Impatience chased away Alaina's hunger, and she set down her sandwich. "There's got to be a way in."

  Mitch covered her hand on the table, and the gesture drew her gaze first to their hands, then to his face. "We'll figure it out," he said. "But Julia is just getting started."

  Easing away from the contact, she dropped her curled fist into her lap. "Two weeks is too long," she said evenly.

  "We have to be careful, Alaina," he said. "Rushing could get someone hurt, including Jonah."

  Frustration nearly broke through her composure. Two weeks. What kind of damage could Layton do to Jonah's psyche in another two weeks? How could she survive that long without having her son safe at her side?

  She scooted her chair back. "I'm going to take a walk."

  Chapter 29

  The few remaining drops of wine dribbled into Addison's glass as she held the bottle suspended above it. For the first time in weeks, she felt calm. Deadly so. The two tranquilizers she'd popped before starting on the wine had been a tremendous help.

  As she sipped the wine, she let her gaze wander the kitchen. She loved this room, with its stainless steel appliances, shiny black Italian marble floor and white counter tops. A full set of the most expensive cookware you could buy dangled from hooks above a gourmet island in the center of the room. She'd spent many hours at that island, whipping up fancy meals for Layton, his top lieutenants and their wives. Her cooking abilities had often been the talk of her standing Wednesday lunch with several other PCware corporate wives. Apparently, Layton had even bragged about her. What would those people think if they ever found out about the secrets the perfect couple kept locked away? Actually, they would find out, she realized. At some point, either the FBI would conclude its investigation and take her husband away in handcuffs, or he would leave her. Not only would she be alone, but everyone would know why, her golden image tarnished beyond repair.

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Layton ambled into the kitchen, breaking stride when he saw the empty bottle sitting on the island counter. His face instantly hardened. "Isn't it early for that?" he asked. "Where's Joe?"

  "In his room," she said, impressed that she sounded so normal despite the combination of drugs and alcohol working on her system. "He hates it that you call him that."

  "Well, it's time he got used to it." At the refrigerator, he took out a pitcher of iced tea and poured himself a glass. "Did he meet with the tutor today?"

  "Yes. I don't think he's too thrilled about the home-schooling thing."

  "He'll just have to get used to that, too. In the meantime, he's spending too much time up there by himself."

  "I didn't know you wanted me to keep him entertained."

  "You know this is a crucial time, Addy. The more we let him sulk by himself, the longer it will take for him to get over it." He put the tea away.

  "I know about her."

  He paused, his hand still on the fridge handle. Everything about him was expressionless, but she sensed his tension.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "Winnifred Ellison."

  He didn't even flinch. "What about her?"

  "Do you love her?"

  He folded his arms. "How do you know about her?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes, it does. I've been extraordinarily discreet."

  "Not discreet enough apparently."

  "Did you follow me?"

  "Maybe I did," she said.

  "Did you have me followed?"

  "Maybe I did that, too."

  He went to her, took the wine glass from her hand and set it on the counter. "You've been drinking too much lately."

  "As if you care."

  He cupped her face in his warm, dry hands, gazed deep into her eyes. His were concerned, caring, and her stomach lurched. Suddenly, he was the old Layton, the man she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. Had she misjudged him?

  "I knew something was troubling you, Addy," he said. "I wish you'd talked to me. I could have explained."

  She drew back, blinking furiously to stop the tears before they started. "You can't explain this away, Layton. I know you're leaving me."

  He stepped back. "What are you talking about?"

  "I know about Belize. You're leaving me, and you're taking Jonah with you. Well, you should have waited for the results of his blood test before spending all that cash on his ticket."

  He grasped her arm before she could push past him. "What test results?"

  She glared at him, her vision blurring with emotion. Dammit, she didn't want to cry, didn't want him to see how much it hurt. After everything, it still hurt that he'd sought the embrace of another woman. "He's not your son, Layton. The test was negative."

  He dropped her arm, looking as if he'd been struck, and turned away. "Dammit," he muttered hoarsely.

  His reaction surprised her. She'd expected him to be relieved. "Isn't that what you wanted? Vindication? Alaina lied about everything. There's no question now."

  He faced her, his features relaxing into a cool mask. "You're right, Addy.
I'm leaving you."

  She pressed her lips together. Why should it feel like he had just ripped out her heart? He was a monster. She'd heard him order her sister's murder, for God's sake. Even if he hadn't raped and impregnated Alaina, he still wanted her dead.

  But maybe Addison could understand that. Alaina had accused him of horrible things, had very nearly destroyed their lives together. Her accusations had certainly haunted them for fifteen years. It made Addison feel murderous, too.

  "I don't understand," she whispered. "I've stood by you through everything."

  "I'm not leaving you for another woman. Winnifred Ellison isn't my mistress. I'm leaving you because I never loved you, Addy. I used you."

  She sank onto a kitchen stool, feeling weak, as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please don't do this."

  "You had the life I wanted. A good father. A family. Money. I wanted a key role in your father's business, and I got it through you. I made it what it is today, you know."

  She covered her face with badly shaking hands. "Please stop."

  "But for some reason, no matter what I did, I could never entirely please your father. Always, just beneath the surface, he seemed disappointed in me, like there was something he wanted from me that I failed to give him."

  She raised her head, not caring that her eyes streamed and her nose ran. All she knew was that she was about to lose everything. If he left her, there would be no pretending that everything in their lives was perfect. Everyone would know what a failure she was. She couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the thought of the other corporate wives gossiping about her, speculating about what had destroyed her marriage. Couldn't bear the thought of being alone, of starting over again, disgraced. She would have no one. No one.

  "We'll see a counselor, Layton," she said. "We can try again to have a baby. I'll see the doctors, go through the procedures again, whatever you want."

  Shaking his head in disgust, he strode to the double swinging doors that led out of the kitchen. But instead of pushing through them, he paused. "You're not barren."

  "What?"

  "You've never been able to get pregnant because I had a vasectomy before we got married."